Ranger's Resolve
by AutumnDreaming
Summary: When Stephanie decides to marry Morelli, Ranger has to reach deep inside himself to win his Babe back. They are helped out by a new friend who is troubled by a dark secret. Mystery and adventure unfold when Steph and Ranger team up to save the day. Babe ending guaranteed.
1. Chapter 1 Ranger

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich_

_Ranger's POV, just after Lean Mean Thirteen_

I'm the man you don't want to meet in a dark alley. Carlos Manoso. Dark eyes, dark skin, Cuban American. Raised in the streets of Newark and Miami. My street name is Ranger. In a former life I was special forces. Today I own a security company called Rangeman with offices in Miami and Trenton. I am better known as a bounty hunter. I am a mercenary, hunting men for money, and women for fun.

This part of my story begins in Trenton, New Jersey. I was alone, driving down Hamilton Avenue at 2:30 in the morning. I could see the image of my black Porsche 911 Turbo reflected in the store windows. When I stopped for a light, the engine went quiet. I soaked up the silence and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. It had been a very long day. I was heading back to my apartment on Haywood.

I passed the turn that led to Stephanie's apartment building. She wasn't there. I kept going. Stephanie was deep asleep in Morelli's arms right now. She was safe. There was nothing to be gained from thinking about her tonight.

I pulled into the underground parking garage at the Rangeman building and took the elevator to the 7th floor. The doors opened, and I unlocked my apartment door with a wave of a silver key fob. Again, silence washed over me. I showered, breathing in heavy scent of the Bulgari shower gel Stephanie loved so much. I just felt numb. I kept letting her walk away. Why didn't it bother me more when Morelli took her home when I considered her to be mine? I don't let other men take what is mine. I tried to shrug it off. He loved her. She deserved to be loved. Probably I didn't worry because they would always fight and break it off after a few weeks. I knew she'd be bouncing back into my court again soon. Still…why didn't it bother me more? A lot of time had passed since the one night we'd spent together. I turned off the water. I wiped all thoughts from my mind, and climbed into bed, drifting away for a few hours of dreamless sleep.

I woke just before the alarm on my watch sounded at 6:30 am. I dressed, ate breakfast, and headed for my office. I needed to catch up on paperwork. I answered e-mails, reviewed security reports and flagged sections of surveillance tapes. I made up work assignments, handled a scheduling conflict between two of my employees, approved the week's paychecks, and checked in with my partners in Miami, Boston, and Atlanta.

I needed to stop in at the bonds office, but found myself putting it off. I was strangely anxious. Nothing makes me anxious, except Stephanie. I was just dropping off the latest body receipts and picking up any new skip files Connie might have for me. She might not even be there. I walked over to the monitor, checking the tracking signal. Damn. She was there.

I flipped open two files on my desk and made calls setting up interviews with two prospective Rangeman employees so I had an excuse to high-tail it back to my office, and headed out. It always helped me to stay focused if I had my schedule booked solid.

I pulled up to the curb, got out, and set the alarm on the Turbo. I put on my business face, and headed through the door and straight for Connie. I ignored Lula, who was filing her nails instead of Vinnie's skip folders. I tried to read the atmosphere to see if anything was off, but it was too hard to tell. Lula sucked in her breath when she saw me, and Connie swallowed her gum, but that didn't necessarily mean anything was up. There's no way to gauge normal with these women. The bonds office is a lunatic asylum, and the residents are in charge.

"Hey, Ranger." Connie recovered, and smiled at me. I tried not to focus on the shadow of a mustache on her upper lip as I dropped the body receipts in her 'in' tray.

"Just mail the checks to Rangeman," I told her. "Got anything for me?"

"Well…yeah, I probably do…somewhere," Connie said, fidgeting with something in her bottom desk drawer. I heard a faint beep of a cell phone text being either sent or received. I didn't like it when the girls conspired against me. They were getting braver about it all the time. I was going to need to put a stop to it soon.

I slipped a glance at Lula. She had the jitters, and was trying to cover it up by shaking her hands to dry her nails. I considered just taking off and ignoring whatever they were planning. I wasn't feeling particularly curious today. Before I could turn to leave, Stephanie stepped out of Vinnie's office. She asked if I would come in for a minute. She had been crying. I took a silent, calming breath.

"Babe."

Vinnie was obviously out for the day. Connie had let Stephanie in with her spare key. I wondered why she hadn't come to Rangeman. Why hadn't she called me on my cell if she wanted to talk? If she'd had a fight with Morelli. I would have met her or picked her up anywhere. Why the ambush?

I waited for Steph to give me the answer.

Tears were threatening to break over the dam again, but she was trying to maintain. She had something to say that was deeply painful to her. I wondered how painful it was going to be for me.

"Ranger, you know how you and Joe and my Mom are always telling me I need to find another line of work?"

"Yes." Why would she be crying over a new job?

"And you know how I've tried to…to have a normal job…several times before," she sobbed. She'd quit working bond enforcement for Vinnie several times. A few times she even came to work for me. But she always came back to the bonds office. She was too independent and curious for her own good.

I nodded slightly to indicate that I remembered, and understood. She should continue.

"Well, it never worked out, did it? I mean, I'm no good at anything." She sobbed again.

"Babe."

I wanted to reassure her, but Steph had been a disaster in action since the day I'd met her. I loved her spirit, admired her determination, and was in awe of her sheer dumb luck, but I couldn't help thinking back on all her disasters. Hell, I got shot in the leg on the first case I tried to help her with. I had lost track of all the vehicles she'd destroyed, some of which were mine. She'd been particularly hard on my men, too. Her antics had become a running joke between my accountant, my medical insurer, and my auto insurance agent. Steph was a diligent, hard worker. But the fact remained; Steph was hardly an ideal co-worker. It was just flat out dangerous to work with her, even if the imminent dangers that followed her weren't really her fault.

She looked me in the eye, and began again.

"Yesterday, when I was standing on one side of a metal door, knowing there was a psycho on the other side going to barbecue me with a flame-thrower, I lost it. I can't do this anymore, Ranger." She broke down, near hysterics. I could only make out bits and pieces of what sounded like, "You're always rescuing me. "

She thought she was letting me down. I knew she saw me as her mentor in the fugitive apprehension business. But I never wanted her to do this job. There had been no stopping her, so I helped her. I thought she'd quit. Then I tried to discourage her. I never thought she would become this involved. She had a growing reputation, and it wasn't good. She was high profile on the street. That was dangerous...for her, and everyone around her.

"Babe." I held her tight. I let her cry till she was able to listen. "You aren't disappointing me, Babe. You weren't cut out for this. That's not a bad thing." Slowly, softly, I repeated, "That's not a bad thing."

She hiccuped and looked up at me. I took her face in my hands, running my thumbs down both temples, in front of her ears, letting my fingers tangle in her soft, dark curls. There were singed ends sticking out here and there. It wasn't the first time I'd seen her singed, either. _Thank God_, I thought. _She's come to her senses at last_.

"What are you going to do now?" I asked gently, tugging on a curl. I imagined she was going to say something totally unexpected that would make me smile. She never disappoints.

She closed her eyes, sucked in a breath, and with all the courage she could muster, said, "I've finally decided to do what you all told me I should do. I'm doing it because I know you love me, and I trust you to know what is best for me, even when I obviously don't."

"What's that, Babe?"

"I'm going to marry Joe."

The earth stopped spinning. I stopped breathing.

She was going to marry Joe. She was going to stay home with Bob and Rex. She was going to stay out of trouble. She was going to be safe.

It meant something else too.

It meant Stephanie was leaving me...for good.


	2. Chapter 2 Ranger's POV Blackie Slieman

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich_

I was looking for a skip, Blackie Slieman, in a small town outside of Trenton called Mt. Holly. It's a historic tourist town full of row houses turned condo. Landscaped yards and white picket fences around back yard gardens. The skip was believed to be lying low with friends. I was in the low-income area several blocks off the main street. It was a quiet neighborhood. I was going to have to do something creative to figure out which house he was in.

I was driving a black Ford Explorer with dark tinted windows today. I made a few passes, but there wasn't much cover to sit and wait, even though it was after dark. I had an ear-bud in my left ear. I was driving slowly down one street after another pointing a parabolic microphone at the house windows, listening. If something interested me, I scanned the house with a thermographic camera, seeing how many people were in the house, what sex, and how big they were.

I was getting nowhere. I smiled a little when I realized it was Stephanie's voice I was hearing in my head. She was the one who would always insist we were getting nowhere. I would remind her that we needed to be patient. She was never patient. Somehow, Steph always lucked into finding her skips. She just followed her nose. She went where her curiosity took her.

I buckled down for another pass on a new street. I didn't think this street looked promising. But it was an inviting street lined with trees that swayed in a light breeze. I it was a beautiful summer night. I was trying to feel a little closer to Steph in that simple act, following this route, following my curiosity instead of my intellect. I let go of the expectation of finding my skip tonight. I rolled down my windows, set down the equipment, and just let the breeze blow into me. I was going to miss her.

I rolled to a stop under a drooping elm in the middle of the block and turned off the engine. There were streetlights at both ends of the block, but I sat in the dark shadow in between. A dog barked in the distance. A back door shut. A trash can lid opened and shut. The back door opened and shut again. Suburbia. What a strange life.

I smiled, amused that the mere thought of Stephanie had me sitting there, wasting time like an idiot. I thought about her hair, her eyes, he laugh, her smile. I thought about how infuriating and stubborn she could be. I though about how often she had made me smile, even laugh. Then I thought of how often I had looked for her when she'd gone missing, how many times we'd been shot at, how many times we'd needed stitches. I had just seen packets of burn ointment sticking out of her purse.

She would be safe now. That was all I had wanted for her, wasn't it?

The breeze blew in again, and I tried to clear my mind.

A police car cruised into my field of vision as he turned onto the street two blocks down. I started up the engine and drove off. The cop followed, so I took it nice and easy out of town, headed back to Trenton.

When I got to the control room, Tank was waiting for me. I followed him into my office, and he shut the door.

"Well?" I asked, sliding behind my desk.

Tank didn't sit. "You got made," he said, half amused, half seriously worried about me.

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh, yeah?"

"By a woman. Costanza called."

I remembered the cop in Mt. Holly, and put two and two together. I must have looked amused.

"You were sloppy, and you took too long." Tank was not amused.

I nodded, closed my eyes, and leaned back in the chair. "Yeah, I know. Cop followed me out of town."

"No shit." Tank decided it was safe to sit down. "You didn't get your man, either."

"Nope."

"Maybe you need to get out of town for awhile." He was suggesting that I take a government sponsored vacation.

"Already on the list," I told him.

"Good." With that, he got up to leave.

"Did you say a woman?" I asked. Tank nodded, as if I should be ashamed of myself. "In Mt. Holly?" He nodded again. "How did she know me? What else did Costanza say?"

"She sent pictures of you, taken at night – at night, man - through the open window of the car. Tinted windows are tinted for a reason. Apparently, they were really good pictures, because Costanza made the ID based on a description of the vehicle and a fax copy of the picture sent over from Mt. Holly PD." He shook his head sadly. "Tinted windows, and you've got them down," he muttered.

"You get a name?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Run it. I just want to be sure…"

"Already did. She's clean. Probably just thinks she's Neighborhood Watch."

"And?"

"Helen Asher, 28. DWF [divorced white female]. Goes by Elena [pronounced el-AY-nuh]. Moved here from Pennsylvania two or three years ago."

"I want to see it."

Tank tossed the file onto my desk. "I'll be around if you need me." He let the door slam behind him.

I pushed open the file and looked at the address search. I paged through an average credit report. Elena Asher had held a lot of jobs, but the report showed steady employment. None appeared to be career level jobs. A few rough patches financially, but she'd paid all her debts. She had been holding steady for the last few years. No reported alimony. No children. Family in Pennsylvania. The DMV report was last. I'd seen her 1995 Black Mustang GT. It was unimpressive, but at least it was black. I turned to the last page.

Driver's license photos are always unnatural. Most are unflattering due to the fluorescent lighting overhead competing with the glaring spotlight attached to the camera. There are beautiful people who photograph like movie stars every time, in any light. Sometimes the subject comes off frighteningly nerdy, particularly if there's a glare on their glasses. But more often than not the person looks washed out, and ultimately forgettable.

Elena was utterly forgettable. The shirt was plain. Her short, dark brown hair was plain. Her smile was kind but not shining through her light brown eyes. I expected her eyes to jump off the page, but she wasn't expressing anything to the camera. She had "leave me alone" written all over her, followed by a polite "please". She was just a nice woman who had called the cops on me for sitting in front of her house too long.

I turned back over the work history. She was last reported to be working at a food processing plant in an industrial park between Mt. Holly and Trenton. She was paying college loans. From the looks of the dollar amount she'd graduated after four years. She was making good money, but had been working two jobs along the way. Hard worker. Hard life.

The words "skip trace" in her job descriptions caught my eye and my reaction took me by surprise. A ripple of excitement shot through me. I knew I had found my way in. She'd been a skip tracer for a collections company for two years. I'd been in need of a good skip tracer ever since Silvio moved back to Miami. Steph had filled in for a while, but it didn't last long.

Steph had opened my eyes to the benefits of having a woman on board at Rangeman. Sometimes I went on investigations with her. People would open up and talk to her – trust her – that would never talk to me. I got information from people by intimidation and, sometimes, physical assault. Steph got information for a Coke and a smile. She was also surprisingly well connected. Steph knew everybody who lived in the Burg, and if she didn't have the goods, she knew who did. She was tapped in to a network of women who worked in every office in Trenton. There were days those women made the CIA look like amateurs. Their only problem was that none of them were capable of the kind of violence necessary to scare off the crazies. That's why Steph became a target time and time again.

Still, I thought it would be useful to have a woman like that working full-time for Rangeman. I would handle things differently this time. Elena looked to be very bright, obviously vigilant. If I kept her off the streets and she could keep a lower profile than the front page of the paper, she would be a real asset to Rangeman.

Bringing Elena on board would also help my image. In the wake of Steph and Morelli getting engaged, it might soften the local gossip and preserve my bad ass image if it appeared to the man on the street – literally – that Steph and I weren't really in a relationship. It might also take the target off of Steph and allow her and Morelli to live in safety.

I closed the file and hit the intercom, calling Tank back into my office. We had work to do.


	3. Chapter 3 Ranger's POV Who's Elena?

"Yo," I said, answering my cell the next morning as I sipped my coffee.

"Any luck on Blackie Slieman last night?" Connie asked.

"Not yet."

"I know he's not a priority skip for you, Ranger, but Vinnie's on the warpath today." I could hear his oily, high-pitched voice rolling off a string of expletives in the background.

"He needs to hire more help," I said. "He knows I don't do low bond cases."

"I told him you are doing him a favor on this one, and I'm interviewing tomorrow, so he needs to GET OFF MY CASE," she yelled, aiming her response at Vinnie who must have been closing in on her desk.

"I'll call you when I have him," I told her, and disconnected.

I finished the morning routine and handed things over to Tank. I changed into street clothes, black jeans, dark green polo, black work boots. I had a Glock 27 in an ankle holster loaded with ten .40 caliber rounds. I had a combat knife in my boot. I had a Glock 21 in a holster at the small of my back, loaded with fourteen .45 caliber rounds. I slipped a pair of cuffs into my back pocket as I picked up my duffel with a change of work clothes - black cargo pants, black T-shirt, loaded weapons belt, and a flack vest.

Ten minutes later, I was headed back to Mt. Holly in my Porsche Cayenne in search of Blackie Slieman.

Blackie was wanted for hit-and-run. No injuries were reported. He was a little guy, and the photo showed a rat-faced, unshaven, drugged out worm whose hair was badly needing an oil change. He kind of reminded me of Vinnie. That's probably why Vinnie bailed him out. Grabbing this guy was going to be a walk in the park. I just had to find him.

I cruised by Harvest Foods where Elena worked. No car. Harvest Foods worked three rotating shifts. She wasn't there now, and she was home in the evening. That meant she had to be on 3rd, and would probably be on 1st next week. Good to know.

I rolled into Mt. Holly a little after 9:00 am. I drove by Elena's house first. Sure enough, I had been parked right in front of her house, on the wrong side of the street. Her black mustang wasn't there, and there were no other cars.

Mt. Holly wasn't that large. I cruised around town, with an eye out at restaurants, grocery stores, and other likely places she might have stopped after a night shift. I spotted her car at a small café called _Ethel's_. I parked at a nearby gas station and waited. She came out, still in uniform, with another woman from work. They got in their cars and drove away in opposite directions. Elena was heading home. She was definitely working 3rd shift tonight.

Now to find Blackie. I knew I was going to find him on the other end of a roach. I cruised the back streets to a little out-of-the-way liquor store, and made a not-so-casual inquiry. I got the name and address of the local pot pusher, and made my way over to make another inquiry. Within the hour, I had Blackie in cuffs, on his way back to Trenton.

I called Connie once I had Blackie cuffed to the backseat. I dropped Blackie at the cop shop and stopped by the bonds office to drop off the body receipt. Then I went back to Rangeman and changed into work clothes. I took some calls, took down another skip with Tank and Lester at a bar in downtown Trenton, and then ate dinner at Shorty's after checking on a squealer we had tucked away in a safe-house. The usual.

I went back to Mt. Holly, and as soon as it was dark enough. I sat with the air conditioner on, tinted windows up, one block over from the previous night. I had the parabolic pointed at Elena's curtained picture window. Elena had music on. _Lay Down_ by _Ten Monkeys_ was playing. The CD changer ran through a few other songs and then repeated. I could hear her moving around inside, but not saying anything. About 11:00, the water came on in the bathroom. At 11:30 she left for work wearing a very unflattering navy blue uniform with her name on the white patch on the front. The uniform was cut for a male employee rather then female. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She wore no makeup. She stomped some dust off steel-toed work boots. There were tools sticking out of the side cargo pockets of her pants, safety glasses were hanging from the top button hole on her shirt, and she carried a hard hat under her arm.

_Another woman doing a man's job_, I thought. _We'll see about that_.


	4. Chapter 4 Ranger's POV Elena's Interview

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, e__xcept Elena created by AutumnDreaming._

I called Tank into my office the next morning, and opened Elena's file and tossed it open onto the desk in front of him.

"I think I've found a skip tracer," I told him.

"Oh, really?" he smiled.

I pointed to the entry on her work history, and he raised an eyebrow.

"I want you along for the interview."

"Does she know she's being interviewed yet?"

"Not yet." I closed the folder and pulled it back toward my side of the desk.

"So, what's the draw?" Why, he wondered, would Elena want to work at Rangeman? She might not be interested in the position. How was I going to entice her?

Steph had come to work for Rangeman for the money and to be near me. Elena already had a good paying job with benefits. And when I approached her with a job offer, she would probably assume I was a stalker. I assumed she was unhappy with her job. Most women in industrial settings are. That was all I had to work. But I was doubtful that she would be interested in trading one man's world for another. I had to find an angle that would resonate with her. But to do that, I had to meet her, talk to her.

I turned back to Tank. "Elena's smart. She's working the plant for security and benefits, but it's not very stimulating. We can offer her a more challenging work environment. A more comfortable and more stimulating environment, with slightly better pay and benefits. A good skip tracer is worth every penny."

"What about the way things went with Steph? She got into all kinds of trouble. You don't want a repeat of that, do you?" He was serious, and concerned.

"Steph was working the streets. Elena will be working a desk. She won't be doing takedowns. Steph had high visibility because of the newspaper coverage that followed every explosion and fire. She was already well known, because she grew up in the Burg. Elena is from Mt. Holly. She doesn't have ties to Trenton."

"Ranger, I have to ask," he paused, swallowing. "Does this have to do with Steph?"

"No." I looked him in the eye. "And that's why you're going with me."

"Great," Tank groaned as he rolled his eyes at me. He wasn't buying it for a second.

An hour later, Tank and I were wearing street clothes, sitting in a booth across from each other at Ethel's. It was 8:15 in the morning. We ordered egg-white omelets and coffee, and we ate slowly. The eggs were cold when Elena came in at 8:30. Her hair was wet from a shower. She had no makeup on. She looked tired and over-worked. Rotating shifts will do that to a body quick. She carried a small box in her hand, and tucked it under her purse when she sat down. Moments later, her friend came in with two small children. They sat at a booth across the aisle and one table back from us. Tank couldn't see them, but I was looking right at Elena. She saw me watching her when she looked up from hugging one of the little boys, but she just smiled politely and looked away, talking to her friend. They ordered, and I tried to eavesdrop on their conversation, looking down into my plate while Tank read the paper. The women were mostly talking to the boys, including them in the conversation.

Tank was giving me the "_you have got to be kidding me_" look over the top of the paper. I stared into my coffee cup and then out the side window into the parking lot, trying not to look directly at either Tank or Elena.

Soon, their plates were cleared away, they slid out of the booth, ready to leave. The friend and boys filed past us, heading for the register. As Elena passed, she touched Tank lightly on the shoulder, startling him, and said, "Morning Tank…Ranger." She smiled politely, and this time, I saw the shine of the smile in her eyes, and they jumped out at me like I had expected them to before.

Tank and I were unprepared for this confrontation, but I held my expression in check and replied back just as casually, "Morning, Elena."

Her eyes registered surprise, but only for a second. The smile stayed in place, and I couldn't tell if she was pleased or disturbed that I knew her name too. She moved off to the register. Tank and I sat staring at each other while they paid and left, not following.

"Well?" I asked, finally, when he failed to say anything. I knew he was now rather impressed.

"Well?" He was still a little stunned. "I don't know. She seems very nice. Too nice." His brow furrowed. "Do you think she's going to feel comfortable at Rangeman? Even Steph didn't stay long. Women like Steph and Elena don't want to hang out at gun ranges and the gym. They don't fit in."

I nodded in agreement. He had a point. We didn't even have a ladies room. Steph had used my apartment.

"Let's talk to her first. Then we'll figure it out," I said.

"I suggest we take the direct approach this time," Tank said as I laid a couple bills on the table.

I nodded.

We drove to Elena's, but her car wasn't in the drive. We parked on the street in front of the house, a white on white bungalow. We climbed the porch steps. The wooden slats were painted gray-blue, and gave slightly under our weight with the beginnings of water rot. Tank sat on the white porch swing, and I sat on the wooden railing opposite him, my back to the street. This was uncharacteristic for me, but Tank had my back, and it was a more unassuming posture. I wanted to try to put her at ease, if I could.

"She's turning the corner," Tank said flatly. I didn't look up. "She sees the Cayenne." I wondered if she'd try to drive on by. "She's slowing and looking at us."

I turned my head slowly and sat back so she could see my face.

Slowly, she pulled into the drive, but not as far up in to the drive as she normally parked. She was a moment getting out of her car. She had her cell in her hand. She probably had it set to call 911 with a push of a button. That almost made me smile.

I slowly slid to my feet as she approached the porch. I turned so I was facing her, leaning casually against a wooden pillar. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at us. "How can I help you, gentlemen?."

I smiled very slightly, still serious.

"I understand that you are bounty hunters. If you would just tell me who you're looking for, I maybe I could help you. You really don't need to go sneaking around scaring people half to death." She wasn't smiling anymore.

"I got my man this morning," I told her.

I saw a few thoughts pass through her mind, and she settled on the assumption that we were there because she had called the cops on me. "I'm sorry I called the police, but I thought you were casing the place or something."

"You were right," I said.

"So, why are you here now?" She asked.

Tank leaned forward on the porch swing, putting his hands together, elbows on his knees. "I have worked with Ranger a long time. I've never know him to be made _and_ called on it like you did. We have a position open at our office in Trenton and we thought you might be interested."

"I don't think so," she said dismissively.

"You haven't heard our proposal," I said, extending her my card.

Elena looked at the card, read it twice, and dropped her hand to her side. "What's the job?" She had resigned herself to listening to our sales pitch, but she wasn't sold. At least, not yet.

"You have two years skip tracing experience. Is that right?" I asked.

Again, she looked only slightly surprised for a moment.

"Yes."

"Did you like it?"

"I liked skip tracing, but I didn't like collections. I hated that job. Every morning I knew I'd have my butt chewed out by angry customers ten times by noon. I'd never take a job like that again."

"I called Collector Center," I told her. "They said you were an excellent skip tracer. I talked to your old boss. She said you were very creative in locating skips, and that you made useful contacts at the appraiser's office. You were always building your resources and keeping good lines of communication open. That's what we're looking for." I looked her in the eye, and added. "We aren't asking you to make collection calls. You can focus all of your time to skip tracing. You will help us locate FTA's."

FTA is _failure to appear_. That's what we call someone who is bailed out of jail and then fails to appear in court. Rangeman gets paid by the bail bondsman for bringing them in. I wanted to see if she knew what an FTA was. She nodded. It appeared she knew the lingo.

"Are you opposed to carrying a gun in public?" Tank asked from behind me. I glanced back at him, warning him not to press it.

"I can if I need to." She looked from Tank, back to me. "Would I need to?"

I hesitated. "I'd rather you had it and didn't need it, than the other way around"

"So, what does Rangeman do, exactly?"

"It would be easier to show you. I would like you to come on a sight-seeing tour tonight. I want to show you Rangeman in action."

She asked after a moment's hesitation. "When? And I want to know exactly where _and_ why."

"Tonight, since you're off." She didn't look happy that I knew her work schedule. "I'll pick you up around 9:30. First, I'll take you to the Rangeman office in downtown Trenton so you can see where we work. You can get a look at the control room and the office space where you would be working. Second, we'll go to an ops briefing to give you a chance to meet some of our key crew members. Third, if you are still interested, you could ride along on a couple of takedowns we have planned tonight. You would watch from one of our vehicles and you would be assigned a bodyguard. You'd be safe."

"Bodyguard." She repeated warily. "I see." She was still thinking.

"You would be helping us catch criminals who are trying to evade the judicial system." I explained. "We like to think of it as performing a public service." I paused. "And, you would be helping me." I tried to melt her with my eyes, but she was having none of it.

"You are the owner of the company?" She asked pointedly. "Rangeman is you, right? Ranger. Rangeman."

"Yes." I nodded slightly. "You would be working directly for me."

"What's it pay?" She had her business cap on.

"Ten percent more than you're making now, plus full benefits."

"Do you know what I'm making now?" she asked. I knew better than to answer that one either way.

"Does it matter?" I raised one corner of my mouth slightly as I gave her a challenging look.

"Skip tracing doesn't pay that much," she said flatly, eyeing me with growing suspicion.

"It does at Rangeman," I assured her.

"You also do security, right?" she asked, looking back at my card.

"Yes." I nodded. "All kinds. You would also be doing routine credit checks on new and potential customers.

She frowned. "So your income is not dependent on chasing down FTA's."

I shook my head "no", and felt my lip twitch of its own accord. I knew where this was going.

She still looked puzzled. "Then why is skip tracing so important to you?"

I smiled. "I do security work so I can afford to chase down FTA's, Sunshine."

Her brows wrinkled and she frowned in consternation. "Why would you do that? It's not good business, and it can get you killed."

"Because someone's got to do it." I turned and tilted my head to the side, looking at her sideways through slitty eyes, giving her my street face. "And…I'm good at it." I smiled with just a hint of menace, as if her question amused me.

"Oh." She was afraid to ask exactly what I meant by that, but she got the drift. "I see. So you're adrenaline junkies."

"I am," Tank agreed. "He thinks he's Batman," Tank said with deadpan humor, jerking his thumb at me.

I glared at Tank, signaling him with a quick nod that it was time to leave. Tank stood and walked past us. I put my hands on my hips, taking an authoritative stance, trying to regain control of the conversation. "So, are you up for an all-nighter?" I tipped my head back expectantly.

"I'll see you at 9:30," she said.

"Good."


	5. Chapter 5 Ranger's POV Elena at Rangeman

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, except Helen a.k.a. Elena created by AutumnDreaming._

At 9:30, I was waiting on the porch swing. Elena was on the phone. I suspected she was giving all the info she had on me to at least two girlfriends, in case she disappeared from the planet. She came back without a purse. In fact, I had never seen her carry a purse. She locked up. Her keys were on a carabiner, which she attached to a belt loop on her black jeans before tucking them into her front pocket. She wore a plain black T-shirt, untucked, and black cargo pants. She seemed to have picked up on the company uniform. I looked down at her black steel-toed boots. Her light dark brown hair was held back with a plain black hair band. She had minimal makeup on; powder, eye liner, mascara, and pale lip tint. She was easy on the eyes, but she was no Bombshell. As I followed her down the steps towards my black BMW, I noticed that she was shorter than I first thought. She was about 5'5" in her boots. I was looking down at her as I leaned closer to open the door. She was lean but solidly built. She didn't look like she would be much of a runner. She slid in and looked up at me as I closed the door. She wasn't smiling. She was forgettable. Good.

We didn't talk on the way to Trenton. I don't talk when I'm driving. I'm analyzing everything I see going on in the streets, keeping an eye out for anything out of place. I don't move my eyes to look left or right or into the rear-view mirror. I see it all at once. I have to keep in constant practice. Letting my guard down could cost me my life, or someone else's.

Steph didn't understand that. She couldn't stand the silence. She felt something was wrong between two people who were in close proximity but not speaking. I spent most of my time with guys who would be uncomfortable with anything but silence. We said what needed to be said, nothing more.

Keeping silent had actually been hard for me to learn. I took a lot of beatings in school because I had a big mouth and didn't know how to keep it shut. It got me into trouble in the Army, too. I had a big ego. It was my Special Forces Weapons Sergeant to straighten me out. After kicking the crap out of me for the third time, took me under his wing and helped me understand the benefits of being silent and staring down an opponent. He showed me how much more effective this technique is when you can back up that non-verbal threat. Turns out, you live longer keeping silent. I had seen what happened to guys who didn't learn that lesson, both on the battlefield and in the street. Hell, in relationships too, for that matter. I'm still not sure which scenario is scariest.

Elena was staring out her side window as we approached the Rangeman underground garage entrance on Haywood. She looked up at the seven-story office building. She was searching the front of the building for a business sign.

"We don't have any signage. Just a gold plaque by the front door. We like to keep a low profile," I explained.

"I see." She was tapping her fingers nervously in her lap. I almost smiled.

I clicked a button on my silver key fob to open the gated entrance, and we parked in the garage. We got out, I hit the car alarm, and I pointed her towards the elevator. I found my hand wanting to guide her, hovering just inches from the small of her back. She sensed my presence close behind her and turned, giving me a rather sharp look. I dropped my hand back to my side. She was all business, hands at her sides as took my place beside her. Again, I almost smiled as I pushed the button.

The doors opened to the fifth floor. I lead the way. She followed me down the hall to the control room. Hal buzzed us in. I was watching her mirror image in the glass. I saw her eyes grow wide as she examined the heavy steel door and bullet-resistant, reinforced glass panels. This was going to be more fun than I had originally thought. I held the door for her, keeping my street face on.

"This is the control room," I said.

She nodded. Her eyes scanned past Hal to the two banks of monitors. Woody was sitting in front of the security monitors, and Hal was watching the building cameras and the GPS monitors on all Rangeman vehicles. The police scanner squawked. A moment later Hal's phone chirped. He took a call from another Rangeman employee. He listened, hung up, and typed the information into our computer log. She watched with interest as I pointed out what we were looking at on each monitor.

"Rangeman provides personal, commercial, and residential security. I have a similar operation in Miami. I started up operations in Boston and Atlanta. Even with partners, I couldn't control what was going on all of the time. If my name's on it, I want to be in control of it." She nodded agreement. "I sold Boston and Atlanta to my partners. They changed the name, but I still work with them doing consulting."

"Army buddies?" she asked, eyebrows raised.

"Maybe…" I said, giving her a look that headed off what might have lead to another question.

She turned her back on me and slowly walked the perimeter of the room, taking in the desks, cabinets, office supplies, and the rather Spartan décor. I liked things simple, clean, and efficient.

"This is where you would be working," I told her, pointing to a cubby space across the room from the monitors. "The partitions provide some noise dampening so you won't have to listen to the police scanner all day." I gestured to another cubicle entrance next to hers. "This is the area we have set aside for investigations." There was a large worktable, file cabinets, and another desk and computer in another partitioned space along the same back wall. She looked at the set up, and I could see her mentally rearranging the space.

"Tell me what you're thinking. First impressions are usually right," I said.

"Well, I'm sure you had practicality in mind with this partition in place, but it feels a bit isolated." She looked more carefully at the floor, noting that the partition was movable. "Does anyone work at the other computer and who uses the table?"

"No one is assigned to the other computer. It is used as needed, as is the table. Sometimes it's useful to lay out the information and sort through evidence." I nodded slightly, indicating she should go ahead and say what was on the tip of her tongue.

"Could the partition separating the two spaces be removed? Honestly, if I were sitting at the desk working in this small cubicle and someone came in and sat down in that chair by the desk, the way it is set up now…well, it would be a little uncomfortable to have two people in there, let alone three. And if it's not inviting, I expect that eventually I would feel isolated from the rest of the staff, like I'd been shoved into the corner and forgotten. I think it's practical to have the sound barrier, but it's not advisable to have any employee appearing to be isolated. I'd open it up." She looked at me closely to see how I was taking the constructive criticism.

"I had never thought of it that way. But you might be right." I walked into the cubby and sat down in the chair where I was used to facing Silvio as he worked. "Maybe that's part of the reason Silvio asked to be reassigned to Miami," I thought out loud. "He wouldn't complain. He could have been feeling trapped in here and I didn't realize it."

I smiled back at her, and tapped the wall separating the two spaces. "It'll be down tomorrow." I smiled a little more. "Not even on the payroll, and already my investment is paying off."

She gave me an embarrassed little eye-roll, exasperated with my compliments, but I just let it pass.

She walked towards a laminated diagram of the Rangeman building showing the fire exits. I stood close behind her and gave her the virtual tour.

"The basement level contains the parking garage and a shooting range. There is a reception desk just inside the first floor entrance. It's only manned if we are expecting clients. The doors are almost always locked and secured. All of the glass in Rangeman is bulletproof. There is a large meeting room on the first floor as well. It is mostly used for clients or interviews, but sometimes we hold our ops briefings there. The second floor is empty office space. Right now, it houses a lot of computer hardware, but there is plenty of room to expand our operation in the future. The third floor contains the gym. It is open to you to use, however, there has never been a long-term female employee here at Rangeman, so the locker room is men only. We'll have to figure something out."

I paused, but when no questions were asked, I continued.

"The fourth floor contains apartments for some of the full-time staff. Hal and Woody live on the fourth floor. This is the fifth floor. This end is the control room and my office," I pointed to a door just down the hall. "There is a kitchen area that we keep stocked with food at the other end of the hall. It is open to employees at all hours. If you bring in food, write your name on it or it's gone."

She smiled and nodded, not surprised.

"Normally, I advise the guys to lick everything they leave, but I don't think that would deter anyone in your case." I tried to look serious, and I cut my eyes to her sharply. That did get the little snort of laughter I was waiting for. She was starting to relax a little. She had a cute little snort. It was an exhale, not that obnoxious inhale kind of snort.

I continued the virtual tour. "The sixth floor contains an apartment for Ella and Louis. They are caretakers for the building. If you need anything, call Ella. You can reach her on the intercom. She does almost all the purchasing. If she can't help you, she'll tell you who can. She's a very nice lady, and the only other female employee at Rangeman.

"I haven't agreed to take the job yet," she reminded me.

I just smiled and continued. "The seventh floor contains my apartment," I said.

"Your...apartment?" she said, mostly to herself.

I nodded, offering nothing more.

"Rangeman seems to be a lifestyle more than a job," she said, searching my expression, probing to see who it was she would really be agreeing to help. I didn't flinch, just gave her a slow, warm smile.

"Now you're getting it, Sunshine."


	6. Chapter 6 Elena's POV Ranger's Takedown

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena created by AutumnDreaming._

_Elena's POV_

There were about twenty heavily muscled men dressed in black, looking like a S.W.A.T. team, sitting around a large mahogany table in the first floor meeting room. There was a dry-erase board covered with names, locations, and times that Ranger referred to as he gave the briefing. There was little feedback or discussion. The plan was explained, the men acknowledged understanding, the plan was repeated a few times. When they actually synchronized watches, Ranger caught me trying hard not to laugh. They seemed like little boys playing war games. They took it so seriously. Ranger seemed exhilarated and in his element.

I was assigned to Hal, which was kind of nice since I had already met him. He was one of the few Caucasian men at Rangeman. He had a Marine buzz-cut that was at odds with this boyish face. He didn't seem terribly bright. He was clearly on the payroll due to his sheer size. His arms were as thick as his thighs, which were huge, and I thought his neck might actually have been a fraction larger than his noggin'.

Ranger walked us out to a black SUV, and opened the passenger door for me.

"Stay in the vehicle with Hal, and you'll be fine. If, at any time, you want to go home, Hal will take you." He was serious. "If all goes well, we will meet back here for debriefing around 4:30 a.m."

_If all goes well? _I involuntarily swallowed.

"OK," I said, as I climbed up into the SUV. Ranger shut the door, and I watched him walk back to a group of guys who were putting on Kevlar vests. Some were putting on shin and thigh protection, too. Another group was just standing around waiting, I could hear the click of slides as their guns were loaded. It was surreal.

I couldn't help watching Ranger. It was easy to pick him out, even in a crowd like this. All the men may have been dressed alike, but they clearly were not equal. Ranger wasn't the tallest. He wasn't the biggest. He wasn't the darkest, or lightest, or the scariest. But there was something about the way he moved. He was lethal. He walked with a smooth gait. He held his head up, not proudly high, but in such a way that his eyes were able to cut through the men around him, and they parted for him as he approached. His eyes were black and naturally deep set, outlined with thick, dark lashes. When he tipped his head down, his eyes were completely lost to shadow, giving him an even more menacing appearance. His movements were fluid and sure. His long dark fingers fastened his Kevlar vest, but his eyes were on a very large black man named Tank. Tank seemed to be second in command at Rangeman. They did very little talking, but a lot of non-verbal communication took place.

Ranger and Tank were handed assault rifles by another man as they climbed into another SUV. Two other guys got in with them – a large black man named Bobby Brown, and a mixed race man named Lester Santos. The other men loaded up in various vehicles, all black with tinted windows. I recognized a Latino man named Hector because of the teardrop tattoo on his cheek. He called something out in Spanish, and there was a whoop from somewhere in the garage, followed by laughter. Some of the vehicles went left and some right. Hal and I followed Ranger's SUV at a distance. Hal knew our destination. Ranger had even told him where he was to park.

We drove through downtown Trenton, past some residential areas, to a rundown, semi-commercial area. I had never been there before. There was probably a good reason I had never been there. We were in the vicinity of Stark Street. There was layer upon layer of gang graffiti on every street corner. It was crime central. Hal drove us up a side street and down a dark alley. I didn't like this much, but I decided Hal couldn't _actually_ hear the blood that was pulsing in my eardrums.

When my eyes became accustomed to the darkness, I noticed that between the houses on my side, I could make out a black SUV parked along side an apartment building. A second black SUV pulled up behind them, and then a silver 350Z pulled up in front. A tall, shapely woman stepped out wearing next to nothing. She entered the building. Once she was in, the guys got out and surrounded the building. Ranger and Tank were waiting in the shadows on either side of the front door. Lester and Bobby disappeared along the sidewalk between the buildings.

I jumped when Hal cleared his throat, he was offering me a pair of night vision binoculars. I held them up, and was shocked by the clarity. These were not cheap. I could see Ranger and Tank, outlined in bright green. Ranger's mouth moved, and I saw the slender mic attached to the ear piece move at the corner of his mouth.

When Ranger gave the presentation, he said they would wait for the _distraction_ to give the signal. I guessed the woman was doing the distracting, and she was going to give them a signal and then they would rush in. We waited and watched. Ranger spoke again and made a couple of hand gestures to Tank, who nodded. They still didn't move.

"Looks like there are four men inside. We were only expecting two. At least one is armed and guarding the door to the apartment." Maybe Hal wasn't quite as slow as he seemed.

We all waited till the adrenaline rush turned into complacent boredom. Without warning, Ranger launched out from the shadows, through the front door of the apartment building with Tank right on his tail. Lester and Bobby followed a second later. Four other Rangemen came running in. I didn't even see them before and didn't know where they had been hiding. This wasn't part of the rehearsal, so I took it that all was _not_ going as planned.

One shot rang out. Only one. We waited with bated breath.

"It's a good sign," Hal said unexpectedly. I tried to be relieved, but I was afraid he was trying to reassure himself as much as me.

Many long minutes later, Bobby and Lester came out, each almost literally carrying a cuffed and shackled man who was struggling to get loose. They drove off. An ambulance arrived, and the medics went inside.

"The guard must have taken one from Ranger." Hal didn't seem at all surprised by this. Neither was I, to tell the truth.

Two by two, the unknown Rangemen came out alone and disappeared into the night. Minutes later, the medics returned for the stretcher and disappeared back into the apartment. They returned within minutes with a body on a stretcher. He was cuffed to the stretcher and restrained. Tank had a fourth man in tow. He stashed him in the SUV and waited on the street till Ranger and the distraction woman emerged. They were talking, and she was obviously trying to stretch the conversation as far as it would go.

Ranger put a hand on the small of her back and half pushed, half walked her to her car. He took her keys from her hand, beeped the alarm off, opened the door, and gestured for her to get in. She didn't look happy. She snatched her keys back and slammed the door, trying to catch his fingers. Ranger simply stepped back with that same ultra smooth way of his, and she peeled out.

"What was that all about?" I asked Hal.

"Jean Ellen," he answered, as if that explained everything.

"What's the story with Jean Ellen?"

"She's been trying to get back into Ranger's bed ever since…" He paused, fearing he was saying way too much. I could hear the wheels turning, looking for a pre-programmed answer. I heard the click as he finally came up with one. "You'd better ask Ranger about it."

"I think I will."

_To be continued…_


	7. Chapter 7 Ranger's POV Elena Accepts

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena created by AutumnDreaming._

I saw Hal's SUV in the garage when I returned to Rangeman. It was about 3:30 a.m. I found Hal and Elena having a bite to eat in the kitchen. Hal had given her a full tour of the building up to the fifth floor to kill time. When I thanked him, he took the hint and excused himself.

"So?" I raised my eyebrows slightly, chin forward, giving her a very penetrating look just this side of a stare-down.

"Why did Rangeman go in to arrest those guys? Why not call the police to handle it?" she asked. I felt my lip quirk. "I know there's a reason why, I just want to be clear what it is. If I'm going to work here, I want a straight answer."

_If I'm going to work here_. That sounded promising.

"We cleared out the apartment for the landlord. He hired us as security. Cops need a warrant, and they couldn't get one for this apartment. Cops have to play by certain rules or they can't prosecute. They have to collect evidence in a certain way. Lawyers find loopholes." I shifted in my seat slightly, leaning a little closer. "Criminals, by definition, don't play by the rules," I said pointedly. "Sometimes, the rules have to be bent or broken to keep good people safe."

"I don't fully understand," she said, furrowing her brow. "What happened with the guys you caught tonight?"

"They're junkies. They hook, grift and steal for a fix. Three were dropped off at rehab. The one in the hospital under guard. Tomorrow, once his wounds are dressed, he'll be charged with illegal possession of a firearm. He has a felony record. He's not supposed to own a gun, and it's probably not registered. Not to mention he drew on me."

"What about the second operation you went to tonight, while Hal was giving me the tour. Why didn't you want me along for that one?"

"That was a more serious situation. We brought in eight men we pinned down a warehouse. They were not FTA. But they were wanted for a bounty. We started our surveillance months ago. They were middlemen for operations dealing in drugs, stolen cars, prostitution, and extortion. They had their hands in the money-laundering phase. When Rangeman caught wind of it, we gathered evidence. I presented it to some friends in the DEA. Drugs are the easiest to bust. Our evidence is treated like a tip, and it gets the ball rolling even though the means of obtaining it may not have been legal. With names and enough probable cause, a warrant for arrest is issued by a judge. A reward is usually offered for capture at that point. That's when we go in. We work in cooperation with the Feds, making sure there is plenty of evidence in plain sight when the Feds arrive, so they can prosecute."

"In essence," she said, a little light bulb going off over her head. "You found these guys, got the goods on them, and the Feds basically paid you to bring them in." I nodded. "You have quite the racket going here, don't you?"

I shot her a warning look. "You think it's easy for us? We get shot at on a daily basis."

She looked stunned.

"I pay my men well. They do their jobs better than anyone. And even though we may bend and even break the law, we abide by a strict moral code. We bring in the bad guys. And I don't mean white collar. We go after the scum of the earth, out on the streets. The court judges them based on hard evidence we provide. I let the justice system handle their punishment. We have a system and we have to trust in it. But getting these guys into the system isn't always easy.

"What is that kind of service worth to the public? Do you think we could maintain this sort of work without proper funding? Kevlar isn't cheap. Good muscle isn't easy to keep. This building isn't rent-free. Do we ever bring in bad guys we don't get paid for? Sure. But I'd be a fool and a sorry excuse for a businessman if I didn't make sure my company and my men get every penny of compensation available."

I let that sink in a minute. Finally she nodded understanding.

"Sounds like you're a good boss." She said softly, backing down.

I drove Elena home in the Turbo after the debriefing. She was silent most of the way. Once in a while a question would surface, but it didn't lead to conversation.

I pulled up to the curb in front of her house. She didn't wait for me to help her out of the car. I walked up the porch steps behind her and held the screen door while unlocked the door. She walked in, and to her mild surprise, I followed her.

"If you're going to work for me, I need to know that your house is secure." I looked around wondering where the camera was that got my picture.

"It's secure", she assured me.

"Show me."

She moved toward the front bedroom, but I walked the other way, to the kitchen, looking for the basement door. She came trotting up behind me. I opened the door and an alarm went off. She ran to the keypad in the living room to turn it off. I went down the stairs and checked the windows. They were way too easy to get into. I walked back up the stairs and looked around the kitchen. I opened the back door and saw the same alarm system was attached to that door, and certainly the front as well. She could arm or disarm each door separately, I gathered. She had left the front door off so the alarm wouldn't disturb neighbors when she came home in the middle of the night. Not safe.

I walked room to room. There were two bedrooms connected by a bathroom, the living room, and the kitchen. The rooms were comfortably large, and the ceilings high. The guest bedroom was fully furnished and clean. Her bedroom looked lived in. She was a reader. Books were everywhere. The old wood floors were noticeably worn in places from someone pacing. The decor colors were all shades of gold, burgundy and olive green. It was a warm and inviting. The furniture was overstuffed, worn, and the wood was dark. There was an atmosphere of deep comfort. I sensed that good food, a well-worn book, and a catnap was all Elena wanted during her down time.

I continued my assessment of her home security. None of the windows were hooked to the alarm, only the doors. She had cheap, portable motion alarms hanging from nearly every doorknob, but they were clearly switched off. If the door moved, the alarm would sound with a piercing shriek, but they weren't hooked into any monitoring system. They were only good for waking you up so you could grab your gun.

"Do you have a gun?" I asked.

"Shotgun." She had it hidden along the bed rail-frame in her room, between the bed and the wall. It was a .12 gauge. I broke it open. Rock salt.

"Sunshine, you need to have real shells in this gun." She nodded. "What else do you have?"

"Nothing you need to know about." She shot me a challenging look now.

_Don't give too much information to the enemy. _She wasn't sure if she might need to protect herself from me one of these days. She had her secrets, I supposed. Good. Let her keep them.

I returned the shotgun to its hiding place. "Why is it that you have this much home security? I've known a lot of women who live alone who don't have half this much."

"I live here alone. But I also take in guests from time to time."

"What do you mean you _take in_ guests?" She didn't need money.

"Sometimes I volunteer at the homeless shelter, or I run into a girl who is on her own and hasn't learned how to make it in the world on her own. It's very hard to find a toehold when you're still a teenager and on you're own. People don't treat you like an adult, and you can't get established without some help. So, I help."

"Been there?"

She nodded slowly, and a shadow of painful memory passed over her face.

"You don't have a guest now?"

"No."

"I'd like to see your video surveillance."

I followed her into her bedroom to her computer. She opened a monitoring program and showed me that there was a camera with a wide-angled lens that captured a very high-resolution image of the entire front porch, the front yard, and the street. It seemed to be motion sensitive for auto-focus. This was an expensive camera. She had another on the back door. There were no cameras on the sides of the house along the windows, but the wide-angle lenses didn't give a very large area for access. But my trained eye saw it easily.

"Having trouble with ex-boyfriends?" I asked, trying to sound amused.

"With some of the girls' ex-boyfriends."

"What about your current boyfriends?" I asked.

"I don't have _boyfriends,_" she said with finality.

"Good to know."

"Don't worry. I make it a policy not to become involved with co-workers." She gave me the impression that rule went double for the boss.

I walked back into the living room and I was looking down at the piano.

"You play?" I asked, nodding towards the piano.

"Not very well," she said, trying to brush me off. I waited for an answer. "It's therapeutic."

"Therapeutic?"

"Yeah. If I had a bad day, I can just pound out my hurt on the keys. I have a bit of an anger problem, and it's the way I choose to try to channel it instead of yelling and screaming."

"How's that working for you?" I asked.

"Sometimes it helps. Sometimes it doesn't," she admitted. "I'm still working on it."

"And if you have a good day?" I asked.

Few and far between." She yawned. The sun was coming through the windows now.

"You want breakfast?" I asked. _Please, don't let her ask for donuts_, I thought.

"No, thanks. I'm too tired. I'm just going to go to bed."

I nodded. "So, when are you coming to work for me?"

She hesitated. "I would need to give at least two weeks notice, maybe three, so they can replace me and get the new person trained." She bit her lip.

"Do you need anything else?" I could see there was another question forming in her mind.

"Sometimes I get called on to help at an area farm. I spent time on my grandparent's farm in Pennsylvania, and I enjoy it. Could I work part time during those weeks?"

"We'll make it work."

I was afraid that if I have her time to sleep on it, she'd chicken out. If I could get her to accept my offer now, even if she changed her mind, she would probably follow through. I knew how to be a salesman.

"Is there a probation period?" she asked.

"No. You have work history. Your pay and benefits will start as soon as the W-4 is signed."

She bit her lip again, feeling pressured.

"I wouldn't ask you to do this if I didn't think you could handle it." I took her face in my hands, and looked her right in the eye. "We really need you on our team, Sunshine."

She looked right back at me, eye to eye. I held my breath. Finally, she nodded her consent. "I'll talk to my boss on Monday and give you a date when I can start."

I reached out and took her cell phone from front pocket. She stepped back from me, but I already had the phone. I loved playing that game with Steph, but clearly Elena didn't appreciate it. She didn't smile, protest, or flirt the way Steph would have. It was going to be hard getting used to a different woman.

I flipped open the phone and programmed my cell, Tank's cell, and the control room into her phone.

"If you need anything, you call me first. If I don't answer leave a message, or you can call Tank. If you can't reach us, and it's an emergency, call the control room. They will send someone out to help you immediately."

I wanted to see what she'd do if I tried to place the phone back in her pocket, but she didn't give me the chance. She held out her hand for it. I handed over the phone, and she snatched it from my hand. I was almost smiling again. I liked Elena. She was feisty. But she wasn't Steph, and I missed her suddenly. I didn't like the feeling. Stephanie would have had me smiling. It felt like I might never smile again.

"One more question," she said, pausing as she headed towards the front door, intent on showing me out.

"Yes?"

"What is your relationship with Jean Ellen? Does she work for you?"

I was a little stunned. I didn't see that coming. "I told you, Ella is the only woman working for Rangeman. Jean Ellen works for a Trenton bail bonds agency. Sometimes she works with Rangeman as an independent contractor."

"As a distraction?"

"Jean Ellen has many talents," I said.

"Does that mean you have a working relationship or you're working on a relationship?"

I didn't answer.

"Look, Ranger, I've entered into positions where I inadvertently found my presence made a bad situation worse, and I ended up losing a good job. I don't enjoy getting burned," she said. "I understand your personal life is personal, but if I am going to be the new woman on your team, I need to know if there is another woman in your life who is going to have a problem with that. Is Jean Ellen your girlfriend?"

"I don't _have_ girlfriends," I told her, doing a rough imitation of her. "Anything else?" I took a step closer, trying to make her nervous enough to send me away and end this conversation.

"No." She said, stepping back as I passed and entered the doorway.

"Thank you for the tour," she said, with a softer voice, backing down again. "You were right, I needed to see it."

"Get some sleep," I told her.

Before she could say goodbye, I was down the stairs, and down the street.


	8. Chapter 8 Ranger's POV No Relationships

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena created by AutumnDreaming._

_What is your relationship with Jean Ellen_? I wondered to myself, as I neared Trenton. The traffic picked up as the on-ramps fed morning commuters onto the highway.

I was an opportunist. I was an opportunist in business, in making my way in the shadows of street life, and certainly when it came to women. Although, I had made certain rules for myself along the way.

When I was a young man, especially during my first few years in the Army, I took advantage of my good looks as much as I could. My ego knew no bounds. I thought I was God's gift, and that gift needed to be spread around.

One weekend on leave, I took advantage of a girl named Rachel. She came from a strict Catholic family. I had taken advantage of so many girls by that time, I had lost count. I didn't even care about Rachel. But, when I learned that she was pregnant with my child, something inside me wouldn't let me just walk. I had applied for Special Forces training. I wanted to be a real man, a good man, a hero. A hero doesn't walk away from a child he brought into this world. And Rachel suddenly became the damsel in distress who, thanks to me, would have to tell her family and live in shame the rest of her life. That wasn't heroic.

So, I married Rachel. I didn't see her much. And we never slept together again. Once the baby, a little girl named Julie, had been born, I made it known she was legitimately mine. Soon after, Rachel and I filed for uncontested divorce. I've always provided financial support for Julie. I visit when I'm invited, and I'm given pictures and updates on her progress. She's truly beautiful, and I'm proud of her, and I'm proud of Rachel. They have a good family life. Rachel married a man named Ron Martine while Julie was a baby. He adopted Julie. I have felt I had made amends as best I could. That was when I first began to make rules for myself about relationships.

The old saying "loose lips sink ships" is true. I'd seen men die that way. It's true in war. It's true in espionage. It's true in the Mob. And it's true in love.

Once I was discharged from the service, I returned to Trenton and started working for Vinnie in his Bail Bonds Office as a Fugitive Apprehension Agent. I became a bounty hunter. I teamed up with Tank, a childhood buddy from Newark. Over time, Bobby and Lester joined us. We battled through some tough times before Rangeman was finally established.

The excuse I used at that time was that I didn't have time to devote to a relationship. My life was too dangerous for a woman to be involved with me. Besides, my sex appeal would be greatly diminished if word hit the streets that I had a "girlfriend". The word "boyfriend" always follows, and there just isn't a powerful connotation connected to being a boy or a friend. I wanted to be known as a bad ass.

Tank and I decided it would be prudent not to be a regular anywhere. We didn't want to be remembered. That's pretty hard for us. We tend to make an impression. Tank and I would drive to bars and clubs at least an hour from Trenton or Miami. We'd have a few drinks, enjoy the scenery, make a selection, and go to her place. We called it our "out of town business". The guys all know what that means. It's expressive without being raunchy. But, it _was_ raunchy. Our rules were "_never fall asleep at her place_", "_never spend the night_", and the absolute rule was "_take no numbers_". We never called. We never did a woman twice. We didn't even return to the same club for at least six months. We started covering a lot of territory. That's how we ended up opening the offices in Atlanta and Boston. Sad, but true.

It was business as usual until I got a minor case of VD. Just because you have a raincoat on doesn't mean you aren't going to get wet in a storm. I had been unbelievably lucky up till then. I thought I was invincible. Then I had to admit I wasn't. The situation wasn't serious, but I decided to quit while I was ahead. I stopped being a player.

Shortly after that, I met Jean Ellen. We were both bounty hunters working the streets in Trenton. Our paths crossed often enough. My libido got the better of me, and we hooked up a few times. It was against the rules, but she was convenient and willing to forgo commitment. She was very effective in working distraction operations. She had a killer body. Unfortunately, her personality left a lot to be desired. I don't know why she was so bitter. I never cared enough to ask. She invariably came across as sarcastic, and she didn't play well with others. Most of the time we spent together, I was silent and she did what little talking there was, most of it dirty. It was just business, for both of us. Or so I thought.

Jean Ellen and I stopped having "business meetings" after I spent the night with Stephanie.

With Stephanie, I broke all the rules. It was only one night, but it wasn't like anything I had ever felt before. I stayed. I slept. I woke up with her in my arms, and I loved it. I slept with her in my arms many times after that, and felt more guilty about that than I did about the sex. Maybe guilt isn't the right word. I was breaking the rules, and I was putting us both in danger. Whether it was physical or emotional danger is debatable. Probably, it was both.

Ever since Steph's engagement to Morelli had become a matter of Burg gossip, Jean Ellen had been stalking me like a jungle cat in heat. And I wasn't interested.

Steph had changed me. I wanted to think the difference was that she knew me, but she didn't really know much about me. She thought I was hot. She thought I was Batman and Bruce Wayne. Smoke and magic. The Wizard. And she liked it that way. I was her hero. But it wasn't real, was it? It was just her perception of me.

Maybe the difference was really that I had known her. The absolute rule was never to get her number. But with Steph, I had always had her number, in every way.

_To be continued…_


	9. Chapter 9 Ranger's POV Elena's 1st Days

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena created by AutumnDreaming._

Three weeks later, I met Elena in the garage and walked her to the first floor meeting room so she could fill out the employment paperwork.

Then we went up to the 5th floor control room. She was impressed with the new layout. What had been a small, dark cubby was now a wide open work space for two computers and the "investigation station", surrounded by floor-to-ceiling sound dampers, clear as glass. Not only was it quiet, it was like going into a large office. She could see the men working at the control center and they could see her.

"Nice," she said.

"You think that's nice, wait till you see the bathroom," Hal told her. I shot him a look, and he appeared to suddenly shrink about two inches lower into his seat.

"What about the bathroom?" she asked.

"There is only one rest room on this floor, and it's always been men only. To ensure that you don't walk in on any of us, and that we don't walk in on you, there is now a keypad outside the door. You enter your code. The readout will signal whether or not the room is occupied. When you get the all-clear, go in and make sure the door is shut. It will lock electronically. The read out will indicate that a woman is using the facilities. The men can't get in until you leave. The door will open from the inside, but not from the outside. When you open the door and exit, the display will show the room as unoccupied again, and the keypad will reset. In addition, the hallway is on constant video surveillance, like the rest of the common areas."

"Thank you," she said, sounding glad for the reassurance. "You obviously went to a lot of trouble to bring me here."

On her desk was a box containing fourteen Rangeman uniforms. Laid out on the desk was a secure cell phone, a key fob programmed for access to the garage and shooting range, and a Kimber Aegis II 9mm handgun with holster. There was also the Rangeman standard, fully loaded gun belt, a couple extra mag pouches and mags, defense spray, stun gun and cuffs.

Elena's eyes grew wide. "I agreed to wear the gun, but I'm just supposed to be working the office aren't I? What do I need all of this stuff for?"

"You have a much smaller waist than my guys, and I wanted to be sure that I had a gun belt that would fit you, just in case. You can put it all in a drawer while you're here, but I expect you to practice in the range with it at least once a week. You need to develop your reflexes and be comfortable wearing the belt and pulling the gun in case a time comes that you need to wear it."

I grabbed the Kimber, and helped her clip the holster onto her belt. "Good. Now we're going to go down to the range to practice until you feel comfortable and know how to use the gun safely."

"Right now?" She looked a little alarmed.

"Now."

We had barely entered the parking garage when she gasped again. I forgot about her car. I'd had Eddie come in to tint the windows so no one could see in. She glared at me.

"What happened to my car?" she demanded.

"It's for your safety. It's best no one sees a woman driving into the Rangeman garage every day. You could become a target."

She looked at the car again.

"That's not my license plate! This is not my car. Where is my car?" She was starting to simmer and I had a feeling it would turn to a boil with very little warning.

"This is your car," I assured her. "The tinting will only delay the inevitable. I'm not the only one who can trace plates, and since you live off-site, I don't want to risk the bad guys finding you, especially while you are living alone. You need to always be aware of your surroundings. When you're going home, every day, you need to be sure you aren't being tailed. If you are ever tailed, I want you to call the control room immediately so we can try to intercept. Never let anyone follow you home. You understand?"

"My plates?" She was mentally tapping her foot with impatience.

"I have contacts at local scrap yards. They provide VIN plates from the bodies of wrecked vehicles before they are crushed or parted out. We apply for a new title, pay the taxes, and get a new plate and registration."

I had momentarily lost her again. "You're paying taxes and registration…on cars you don't even have?"

"I'm paying for untraceable plates for a car _you_ have, Sunshine."

"What if I get pulled over?" she asked.

"Don't." I was being smart, and it got me the look.

"Even white girls get pulled over sometimes," she said sarcastically. "My registration won't match the tag."

"You give him the new registration. You tell him the car belongs to your boyfriend, Mike Jones. His name and address is on the registration."

"What if he checks the VIN on the vehicle?"

"It'll check out. I had them switched. You are now driving Mike Jones' car. You will want to keep up your own registration and insurance, so that if you want us to switch them back later on, it'll be a piece of cake."

"What if Mike Jones finds out and comes for _my_ car. I won't be able to prove it's mine."

This got my lip to quirk again, and I shook my head. "He won't."

"How do you know?"

"Sunshine," I said, trying to sound reassuring, "there is no Mike Jones."

The good news was that Elena already knew how to handle a handgun and was a decent shot. The bad new was that I was now trying to teach handgun safety to an angry woman. She wasn't afraid of her gun like Stephanie was. Elena quickly went through two 100-round boxes before I had her sufficiently worn out to listen to me again. When we were done, I taught her how to clean her own gun. She did a good job. I trusted her to be on her own the next week. We scheduled her range time and went back to five.

Tank and I spent the afternoon getting Elena access to the search programs. She had used these types of programs before. She just needed to learn her way around the options. We talked about what I would and would not allow her to do, not what was legal in the realm of skip tracing. Rangeman is willing to take certain risks, including impersonating someone else to lure a skip. She was expecting that, but I had no idea how effective she would be.

The cell phone I had Tank issue her was listed to "Joan Moyer". She could use this phone to make calls to inquire about our skips so that "Joan Moyer" would come up on caller ID instead of "unknown caller" or "number blocked". Since we were skirting the law, we didn't want to be traced. We just wanted to appear extraordinarily lucky at finding our FTA's. It turned out that our skips were pretty eager to answer the phone when a woman's name came up.

Elena called my cell around noon the next day wanting to know what time would be convenient for me to pick up my latest FTA outside Tom's River, a small town down on the coast. John Boyle was wanted for possession and assault with a deadly weapon. He was a multiple offender, and he was facing some serious jail time. He was not going to go quietly, and my sources told me that he was definitely hunkered down somewhere in Trenton.

I almost dropped the phone. I spoke slowly and clearly. "You're going to make me an appointment to pick up John Boyle at his brother's house tomorrow, at a time of my choosing?"

"Yes," she said, sounding impatient and unhappy that I was doubting her abilities to make this happen.

"Where is he?" I asked.

"I'm about to call him back to make an appointment to look at his brother's Ford F-150. It's for sale in the Sunday paper. The guy I just talked to said his name is John, and that it's his brother's truck. The house is on a little finger of land off the coast where he's hiding out."

"And you found this how?"

"Newspaper search on all known relative's phone numbers."

"Try to set it up for 3:00 p.m., " I told her. "He's expecting you. Want to ride along?"

"Well, he's expecting to meet with a woman, but it isn't going to be me. I'll tell him I'm bringing my mechanic friend to look it over so that one or two of you can get close. You could use Jean Ellen again," I suggested.

That wasn't happening.

"I'll figure it out," I assured her. "Good work, Sunshine. I'm impressed." And I was gone.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," I mumbled as I dialed Lula.


	10. Chapter 10 Ranger's POV Hot and Cold

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena created by AutumnDreaming._

I was just dropping off Boyle's body receipt to Connie when my phone buzzed. I looked down at the Arlington number, and stifled a groan.

I was gone on a contractual obligation for the government for six weeks.

When I'm in the wind, I don't contact Tank unless it's an emergency. We have a system we call "pinging", like when a submarine sends out an audible ping to check depth. Tank and I would create a pocket on the Internet using a variety of different servers that we chose at random. They weren't ours. We used them to host phantom websites. When I would access a particular web-site, a counter would register one viewing, and Tank would see that I had "pinged". Depending on which site it was, it could mean I was okay, I was on my way home, there was no end in sight, or I was in deep trouble, activating our back-up extraction plan. I was working for the government. I knew the government wasn't working for me. I was expendable.

While I was gone, Tank was in charge. His experiences with Stephanie had made him nervous. He decided Elena wasn't to go anywhere without an escort. We assumed that, like Steph, Elena wasn't going to have anything to do with an order for an armed escort. So, we told her that we wanted her to spend time with each employee outside of the Rangeman office as a team-building exercise, to get to know them. We told the guys were told to have no suggestions and to do whatever she wanted. In the end, we both knew Elena knew what we were up to.

Elena didn't blow up cars. Elena didn't burn down buildings. Elena didn't break legs or get the men shot.

It was far worse.

Elena made them take her to church, starting with Hector. I would have paid to see that.

Lester got stuck helping her clean up an old lady's yard. It had been very nice once, but it hadn't been tended for ten years.

Hal got the worst of it. He volunteered to take her home to Pennsylvania for a wedding. Everyone assumed Hal was her date. Apparently her parents didn't know she was working for Rangeman. She told them Hal worked as a security guard, which was true enough. The story that came back from that excursion was that Elena had a way with animals. A lady was trying to get authorities to come look at an injured horse in a field next door too the church because it had an injured foot. She couldn't get close enough to get a picture of it. Elena gestured to the horse. The horse took a long look and then dipped his head down, painfully walking towards the fence until it reached her. The lady took her pictures while Elena talked to the horse and stroked his ears. A cloud rolled in. Unexpectedly, the camera flash went off startling the horse. He reared and took off like he'd been shocked with a cattle prod. Elena was somewhat upset by this. Hal seemed to forget he wasn't really her date and tried to put his arms around her. Big mistake. He didn't say what happened, but apparently no one present mistook him for a love interest after that.

Hector took her to a second hand store. His English is getting better, and he was teasing her that I wasn't paying her enough. She told him she was trying to be a good steward. He must have thought she said "good stewardess". We can't figure out why else he would have playfully suggested she try on a navy blue micro-mini. She told him she'd try it on if he would try on a pair of black leather pants she had found. We had told her Hector was gay, which he is, but he was apparently encouraged when she followed him into the dressing room a few seconds later. Passion quickly turned to fury when he realized she was only there to snatch his pants. She ran off with his gun, his wallet, and the keys to the SUV, leaving him there. Tank and Hal had to go pick him up, and pay for the skin-tight leather pants he was wearing. No one else would go. Tank was afraid that Hector might make Elena disappear, but once he calmed down, Hector decided it was pretty funny after all. Needless to say, he won't be trying to humiliate her again.

As I sat in my office, I plowed through the stacks of work that had been left for me. When I took a break, I looked through the photos the guys had taken with their cell phones and some interesting and comical stills from the surveillance cameras at Rangeman that Tank thought I would enjoy. I viewed them as a slideshow, and kept stopping it at one picture Lester had taken of Elena shoveling mulch at the old lady's house.

If I had been looking at this picture six months ago, I would have gone right past it. Elena was not trying to be alluring. She was not dressed to start a riot. She was attractive in this photo because her smile was so rare, and this smile was a full-body smile. What little skin showed was clearly pink with the start of sunburn. Her cheeks and nose were rosy. Her hair had a few leaves and sticks in it, and a few strands of hair had come free of her barrettes and were sticking to her sweaty face. Her shirt was untucked, so her figure wasn't striking, even though she had a nice one. In the office, she did everything she was asked, and she did it faster and better than expected, exceeding expectations in every area. But outside work…when it came to personal relationships, that was another matter. By the time I got back, the men were calling Elena _The Ice Queen_.

I wish I had pressed Elena the Ice Queen into helping me hunt down Jimmy Voran at a private party instead of the overheated Jean Ellen. Elena had flatly refused when she found out there would be lots and lots of sex, drugs, and rock and roll. She insisted that we try to find some other way to trap my man, but I didn't think I had time. Jimmy was FTA, wanted for the brutal mob-related murder of two of Trenton's Grizolli crime family. If I didn't bring him in tonight, I'd have to wait until the body washed up. Vito Grizolli was no doubt two steps behind him with a cement mixer standing by. I didn't want to miss this opportunity. Hindsight is always 20/20.

The party was being thrown by Dominic De Luca, head of a rival drug cartel. Jimmy had worked his way up from delivery boy to heavy hitter, and was the guest of honor. The party was invitation only, and it was not easy to talk my contact in to getting me in. But I'm sure he'll be finished working with the physical therapist by Christmas.

Jean Ellen and I were supposed to blend in at the party. We arrived late, hoping to reduce the number of people who would be capable of remembering us in the morning. Jean Ellen was in disguise as she climbed out of her black Jag. She was sexy as always with dark hair loosely pulled up with long bangs hanging over half her face and a few loose strands hanging halfway down her back. Her tanned skin was shining and unavoidable because the slinky red dress she was almost wearing was wide-open all the down her back, and I mean all the way down. She was walking tall in her four-inch black stiletto heels. She was luscious, and she knew it.

I knew Jimmy was there. I would have to get him out unconscious. Jean Ellen was supposed to get him alone in one of the private rooms and hit him with her stun gun. I had a hat, paste on beard and nose putty, to disguise him while Lester and I hauled him out under the pretext of taking our drunken friend home. Bobby was on the other side of the room. Tank and Hal are too memorable, so they were waiting outside doing surveillance. If the Grizolli's or their associates showed up, I didn't want to be caught in the crossfire.

Jimmy had been spotted going into a bedroom with a woman fifteen minutes before Jean Ellen arrived. The door was locked, and they seemed to be engaged. I could unlock the door, but I couldn't risk the girl screaming, or Jimmy shooting at us. We needed to loiter around the doorway and wait for an opportunity to slip in quietly.

Jean Ellen was taking unfair advantage of the situation. She was all over me. I pushed her back hard against the wall as a warning to cool it, but that put my back to the room, so I had to put her somewhere else. I turned her around and put my back to the wall so I could keep an eye out. She was doing her very best to try to flip all my switches, and I was trying not to let her. Not easy. I kept my eyes on Bobby for any signal, but I didn't get one. We needed to wait, and it might be a desperately long wait if she kept this up.

Jean Ellen had me in a state. There was no denying it. Necrophilia had never appealed to me before, but it crossed my mind, because even thought I wanted Jean Ellen in that moment, I was going to kill her. I had little choice at this point but to play along. She was not going to let me push her away tonight. She took a step back and made a show of offering herself to me. She was making a scene at this point, and people were watching. She was daring me, in public, to tell her no. She knew I couldn't risk it in this crowd. We were drawing too much attention already and I needed to hide my face, so I pressed it into her neck.

"We have to get out of here," I whispered into her neck through gritted teeth.

"Not yet," she said. She was bound and determined to have her way with me. She had to know she wasn't going to get away with this.

Then it struck me. Why should I be looking for a way out of a situation like this? What was happening to me? It's not like we hadn't been together before. I wasn't in a relationship. Before Steph, I would have been all over her. But now I was angry.

I looked up quickly when I saw Bobby giving me a warning signal. We needed to get out of sight fast. Apparently someone who might recognize us was headed our way.

"We have to get low, right now, or you're going to get us both killed," I growled.

A slow, evil grin spread across her face as she whispered, "No problem." I knew what she was thinking, and it wasn't going to happen.

She gave one last sexy little wiggle and I dropped to the floor on top of her. She'd stopped moving, so I had to wrap her arms around my neck while I pretended to be going for the gold. Her head was back, her mouth open. I was the only one who could see the line of drool running down her right cheek. She was out cold. I had her stun gun in my right hand. As I pretended to reach my peak, I lifted off her, hitting her with a few more volts for fine effect before I slipped the stun gun into to my pocket. She was going to be feeling that in the morning.

Bobby moved into my field of vision and gave me the all clear. I signaled for him to come get Jean Ellen out of there. Then Lester and I put our heads together and decided it wasn't worth the risk without Jean Ellen taking Jimmy out, so we gave up that big bond to the fishes.

Little did I know that bigger wheels had just been set into motion.


	11. Chapter 11 Ranger's POV Enter Terry

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena created by AutumnDreaming and Charlie created by Charles Martin in the novel "When Crickets Cry"._

When I returned to Rangeman, I thought I was about as angry as I could get. Then I saw Tank waiting for me, and I knew I could actually get a little angrier. He was giving me one of those looks that I never liked to see. It could only mean trouble.

"I didn't know if I should show you this tonight, but I'm not sure it can wait," Tank said, leading me to my office.

I sat down behind my desk and took a look at the pictures on my computer screen.

Apparently, at the same time I was having trouble with Jean Ellen, Morelli was having a similar battle with an equally sexy and dangerous associate named Terry Gilman. Not only is Terry his former girlfriend, she holds a high-paying position in the Vito Grizolli group.

"You have got to be kidding me," I said. "He knows I'll kill him, right?"

"You'd think," Tank agreed.

I was looking at pictures of Terry and Joe eating together at a candle-lit Italian restaurant, sitting way too close in a small semi-circular booth. Terry didn't look like she had her hand in her own lap, and Morelli certainly wasn't responding like a man who was engaged to another woman. Terry was whispering to Morelli and he was whispering back. He was so close his lips were on her ear and neck. I was trying hard to give him the benefit of the doubt. There was a slight chance that it was top-secret, work-related whispering. Morelli had worked with Terry on mob-related cases in the past. I knew he was probably working on the Grizolli murder cases, trying to scrape up all the evidence he could. But with Jimmy Voran - the prime and only suspect - on the run, I had to wonder what Morelli was doing with his hands on Terry instead of trying to get his hands on Jimmy. If I knew about the party tonight, Morelli knew about it too.

One of two things appeared to be going on. Either Terry and Morelli were still involved, or Terry was pretending be working on the case in order to keep Morelli away from Jimmy. I wasn't happy with either of those scenarios. Regardless, Vito would be hard a work on his latest paving project by now. There was something big going on in the Grizolli family, and I was going to get to the bottom of it.

Morelli knew all of my guys, but he hadn't met Elena. The problem was going to be getting Elena to agree to help me get the goods on a Trenton PD Homicide Detective. Somehow, I was going to have to get inside her head and melt The Ice Queen, at least a little.

It bothered me that she didn't mind her unofficial title. In fact, she seemed to be encouraging it. I sat back in my chair and pulled up the computer image of Elena working in the garden again. I knew she was kind, but her kindness seemed to have been taken advantage of one too many times. She wasn't really cold. We all knew that. She would bend over backwards to please and to make sure she was never a burden to our operation. But she had drawn a line in the sand that wasn't to be crossed. She could turn on the chill like flipping a switch.

It was this pattern of predictable behavior that I was counting on. I planned to throw her off balance to see if I could find a crack in her façade.

* * *

At 3:00am, Elena's Mt. Holly neighborhood was silent except for a dog barking a few blocks away. I had entered her house through a basement window, easily by-passed the alarm on the basement door, and was soon sitting in a chair in the corner of her bedroom watching her sleep. She had a cat in her arms, and she was snoring just faintly. She wasn't going to wake up until I wanted her to. I looked around the room, and decided that an eye-to-eye surprise might be more startling to her, so I got up and walked over to her dresser, and slid down to the floor, with my back to the dresser, so that I was facing Elena as she slept on her side. If she opened her eyes, she would be looking right at me. I had one leg out in front of me and knee up, with my arm stretched out over my knee, my fingers dangling casually.

I waited till it seemed like she had finished dreaming, and I made a soft noise. She opened her eyes only slightly, not even picking her head up off the pillow. She was literally looking at me sideways. She looked at me for a full minute, and I sat still, looking back at her. Finally, with a soft "huh" sound, as if she must be having a weird dream, she closed her eyes and drifted off again.

I didn't want to touch her or call her name to wake her. That hadn't been my plan. I had a better idea. I left silently, ran to the 24-hour grocery store and bought a bouquet of mixed flowers. I returned, pulled the petals off, stuffing them in a deep pocket so there would be no rustling of paper or plastic, and went back into the house. I sprinkled the petals over Elena as she slept and then left a note asking "Sleeping Beauty" to call me when she woke up. I signed it "R". I wanted her to know I had been there, and nothing bad had happened. It sounds like a bizarre way to build trust, but it works.

I looked around the room quickly before leaving, making mental notes of the room's contents again, what might have been moved since last time I was here, and what the light was like from room to room. In the living room, I saw three blank pages of cardstock and a small notebook sitting on the end table where she had been working on something. There was a piece of hinged stainless steel and what looked like a stitch ripper from a sewing kit. As I picked up the notebook, my finger ran across the card stock, I felt the raised bumps on the paper and suddenly realized what I was looking at. The metal piece was an old Braille writing guide. She was writing a letter to a blind person. I read the letter from the notebook but there was no name. When I was done reading, I felt the bumps on the top page of the letter for the salutation. The name was Charlie. There was no address, but I recognized a reference to a waterway in her notebook as being in Georgia. Now I had what I came for.

* * *

Elena called at 7:00 a.m.

"Yo," I answered.

"You broke into my house," she said, steamed.

"I stopped in for a visit," I said.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" she demanded.

"You were sound asleep. It could wait."

"You drove all the way to my house and broke in for something that could wait till morning? I don't think so. What's going on?" She was suspicious again.

"I have a job for you. A job only you can do for me." I tried to convey how important this was.

"This isn't about that party, is it? Did you get your man?" I could just see her shuffling around her house barefoot in her faded, cornflower blue bathrobe, stifling a yawn and trying to find something for breakfast.

"No. He got away," I said. "I ran into some interference. I would have had him if you had been with me." I thought I would see if guilt would get me anywhere.

"I told you no, and I meant no."

"I could have made you change your mind, if I wanted to."

"How's that?" she asked, almost playfully, curious to know what I was going to say.

"All I would have needed was 10 minutes alone with you," I said, as if that were a promise.

"That better be a threat to kick my ass," she asked haughtily. I could hear the smirk on her face. She wasn't mad. But she didn't let me answer. "So now what? You want to try getting your hands on Jimmy Voran again?"

"We could talk about it." I didn't honestly think there was a snowball's chance of getting my hands on Jimmy now, but I was open to her ideas.

"Hold it," she said, a little more awake now. "You said you had a job for me, so you already have something in mind. Spill."

"I need you to deliver a box of Girl Scout cookies."

There was silence for a beat. "I sincerely hope that's code for something."

"Yes and no. But first, I need you to do something else."

"What's that?"

"Open your front door. I have breakfast."

The door opened a moment later, and she clicked her cell phone closed. The porch light was on a timer, and it clicked off as I was stepping in the door. She was indeed in her robe and her hair was a disaster. She didn't seem to care that I was there, and shuffled back to the kitchen where the coffee was almost done brewing.

She pointed to the kitchen table, and I opened the bag and placed two bagels on the plates. We smeared fat-free cream cheese from little silver condiment packets onto the fresh bagels, and we ate and drank in silence for a few minutes, waiting for the coffee to kick in.

"OK," she said, with half her bagel gone. "What's the job?"

"You actually _are_ going to deliver some Girl Scout cookies. I need you to find a way to leave a pen inside the house. It has a bug in it. If this guy writes you a check, give him the pen and don't ask for it back. If that doesn't work, pretend to be writing an order and tell him the pen is out of ink. Ask if he has another one, and put the pen where it points into the room, preferably towards or in the kitchen, hidden if possible."

"Ranger, you broke into my house. Why don't you just break into this house? I know you can. I've heard the stories."

"It wouldn't be smart to break into a cop's house." _Especially this one_, I thought. She choked and tried to swallow. "If you just happen to leave an ink pen after being invited in, we would have a lot less risk of being detected than if I send one of my guys to sit on a rooftop across the street to install a mic."

"You're nuts!" she said, almost knocking her coffee cup off the table.

"You have no idea, Sunshine." I gave her a dangerous look. She had been about to laugh, but changed her mind abruptly, sensing that I was actually quite serious.

"Ranger, what is going on? What are doing?"

"I need you to trust me." I held her gaze, my eyes boring hard into hers. "There is a life at stake, and I need you to do this for me."

She looked uncomfortable, squirming a little in her seat.

"I know that I've been gone most of the time you've been at Rangeman, and we haven't had a chance to get to know each other." I wrapped my hands around my coffee cup. "Elena, I see you keeping everyone at arms length, and sometimes I feel like you're keeping _me_ at arms length with both arms." She nodded understanding, and I continued. "I don't want you to ever feel like you have to do that. You don't have to be afraid at Rangeman. I know you would never act in a way that would inappropriate. I trust you. And I trust my men. I have to trust them with my life, and I'm careful about who I have on-board in the control room and living in the building."

Elena nodded again. "I know, I've been too hard on them," she said, rubbing her forehead, her voice cracking slightly. She blew out a sigh, and shook her head as if she had failed once again. No one was harder on Elena than she was. She was her own worst enemy.

"I'll tell you what," I said, softening to her. "Let's try something new. Let's do something together that neither of us have ever done before."

She looked at me suspiciously again. "What do you mean?"

"People like you and me act like we're always at war." I looked down into my coffee. "I learned the hard way not to confide in anyone, especially a woman. It could cost me my life." I paused, and looked up slowly. "Elena," I said, finding myself on a precipice, hesitating. "Lately, it's occurred to me that because of that, I haven't got a life to lose. I have become my job. I always thought I was more…" I shook my head slowly. "But, I haven't been more for a very long time. I haven't had anything more in my life to share with someone else."

She cut her eyes to me for a second, gauging whether I was going to go on before she spoke. "What about Stephanie?"

I shrugged. "This was going on before Steph. This…" I made an empty gesture with my hand. Then I reached across the table for her hand. Slowly, she gave it to me. "I know what you're made of, Sunshine. And I'm willing to trust you. We need something real that we share between us. I'm willing to trust you, and I'm asking you to trust me."

"I don't know what you mean," She said, looking at our hands. I rubbed my thumb over the back of her hand.

"I don't just want to share a secret. I want you to do something with me that you've always wanted to do, but never have."

"Like what?"

"You'll know."

She sat back in her chair. "Before we get too deep into this trust thing, I have a confession to make," she said. I suspected she was aiming at levity.

"Sounds serious," I said playfully, trying to lighten the mood.

"I am serious," she assured me. "I have been trying to figure out a way say this to you. I guess while you were gone, I just conveniently forgot about it, but it's bothering me again, so I better just get this over with." She gave me a tiny shrug and then pulled her hand away from me. "When I caught you on my video camera, I watched you for a long time, trying to figure out what you were doing in front of my house." She paused, as if she had just made some dramatic confession.

"I photograph pretty well," I said, giving her a full-on smile.

"I didn't turn you in because you were acting suspicious." She swallowed hard. "I turned you in because I wanted to find out who you were." She looked down, shaking her head. "It was so stupid of me, and I'm really sorry I did that. It wasn't right. I don't know what I was thinking." She covered her eyes with her hands in shame, and quickly cut her eyes to me again, checking my reaction.

I grinned down at her. "I have that affect on women."

"I've noticed," she grudgingly admitted, laughing at herself.

"Well, I'm glad you did turn me in, or we wouldn't be here now."

"You're really not mad?" She asked apologetically.

"No," I said. "I'm not mad."

I took her hand and stood. I moved to pull her to me, but she shook her head no, and pulled back, but still held my hand. I touched her face, her temple, her hair. She closed her eyes and let me. She squeezed my hand a little.

"I just get lonely sometimes," she said, her voice breaking again. I knew that if she opened her eyes I'd see tears.

"Me too, Sunshine. Me too."

_To be continued…_


	12. Chapter 12 Elena's POV GirlScout Cookies

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena created by AutumnDreaming._

Even though I couldn't see him, I knew Ranger had me in his sights. And I knew he could hear me. I had a bug in my bra, but it was the thought of conning a cop that was giving me the creepy-crawlies.

I had the pen, an unattractive freebie from the gas station around the corner, in my hand as I rang Morelli's doorbell. To my great surprise, a woman answered the door. I knew her from her pictures. It was Stephanie…Ranger's Stephanie. Not good. I did my best to recover and find my voice.

"Hi," I said in my friendliest and most neighborly voice. "I'm Elena." Best to stick to the truth, I decided. "I'm sorry to bother you, but my niece sort of talked me into buying enough Girl Scout cookies to send her to camp. I got in a little over my head, so now I'm the one going door to door trying to sell Girl Scout cookies," I explained, trying to look pathetic. "You know how it is," I said, giving a helpless little shrug.

"Sure," Steph agreed. "I could see my nieces doing that to me someday. Thanks for the warning."

"So, I don't suppose you'd be interested in taking a few boxes?" I begged.

"Sure," she said, her eyes lighting up. "Always glad to help the Girl Scouts."

People were way too trusting in the Burg, I thought. Ranger was probably quite amused. If we ever tried this routine in Ranger's neighborhood, guns would probably be involved, and I'd might be on the receiving end.

"How about four boxes of thin mints, two Do-Si-Dos, and two Tagalongs. Oh, I don't know…I need some Samosas too," She said. I looked her over one more time. She was only 130 pounds soaking wet and her skin was clear and silky smooth. How could she eat this stuff and get away with it, I wondered?

"Let me see what I've got," I said, and she followed me to the trunk of my car.

After a five-minute debate, during which time I could feel Ranger laughing on the receiving end of the bug, Steph's selections were finally made. I had the distinct feeling that I had been set up by Ranger. He knew she'd buy our scam, literally.

With our arms full of cookie boxes, I followed Steph into Morelli's kitchen. The pen was in my hand. I slipped it into a colored glass filled with ink pens that sat on the kitchen counter by the phone. Steph paid me in cash, and even let me keep the change. I guessed I was pretty good at this spy stuff after all.

Too good, as it turned out. I had planned to make a quick exit, but Steph offered to help me sell the rest of them. She introduced me to a few of the neighbors in order to help me empty my trunk. She even called a few girlfriends, Lula and Mary Lou, who drove by and took the last of the lot. I thought I would never get away.

With my trunk empty and my nerves frazzled, I slid back into my car, and said to my chest, "Stop laughing!" I grit my teeth as I pulled away from the curb. "I slipped it in with a bunch of other pens in the kitchen. It only has a one in twenty chance of being used anytime soon." My cell phone rang and I picked it up.

"You did great, Sunshine," Ranger said.

"You jerk! You should have told me I would be selling cookies to Stephanie. I could have blown the whole thing!"

"You did great," he repeated. "Just like I knew you would."

"I'm am _soooo_ not trusting you anymore," I told him. "I want to know what you hear on that thing. If I'm in this, then I'm in."

"See you at Rangeman," he said, still smiling as he disconnected.

I hated when he did that.

His brevity wasn't unexpected. Ranger taught me not to talk on cell phones any more than necessary because they're not secure. He even taught me certain words and phrases never to say because the call could be intercepted and analyzed by God only knows who. Ranger was all about security.

Back at the control room, Ranger and I made ourselves comfortable at the big table in my area. We were looking over pictures of Morelli and Terry nibbling on dinner and each other. We were tapped into the bug I had planted. It was quiet in the kitchen except for an occasional squeak.

"I forgot about that damn rat," Ranger said, referring to Stephanie's pet hamster. "Rex is going to wear the battery down. I should have used a plug-in model."

"I'm not going back," I assured him. "How long is the battery supposed to last?"

"It just depends. It's a voice operated transmitter. The range isn't very good, so I have a portable receiver and signal booster stashed in a junked car on the neighbor's property. We're recording here at Rangeman. Normally it could last weeks. It'll probably only last a day or two with Rex."

I laid out twelve photos on the table in chronological order based on the time stamp in the lower right hand corner. I looked them all over carefully, observing what I could. They were having a very intimate conversation. They appeared to be well acquainted, romantically. They weren't hungry. Alcohol was present. The restaurant was dimly lit. I wondered where the pictures were taken from. I was guessing from somewhere near the kitchen or bathroom area because the angle suggested the photographer was standing, not sitting at a nearby table.

"Who took these pictures?" I asked.

"I have a tail on Morelli." That was all I was supposed to ask according to the look I got, but I pressed on.

"Why do you have a tail on Morelli? You lead me to believe you became interested in tailing Morelli after seeing these photos, but you were already tailing him."

Ranger was stone faced and didn't answer for a full minute. "I thought he might need some help," he said.

"You thought Morelli might need your help, or Stephanie might need your help?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. I guess I was supposed to draw whatever conclusions I wanted.

"If you want is Stephanie back, why didn't you take these photos to her?" I pressed him.

"That wouldn't work," he said, with a nearly imperceptible shake of his head. "Morelli would explain it somehow, and I would look like an ass for following Morelli."

And it would make him look desperate, which I understood would be completely unacceptable to Ranger.

"You haven't answered my question," I reminded him, going for broke. "Why were you following Morelli in the first place?"

He tipped his chin up and stared at the ceiling. Then he cut his eyes back to me. "I don't trust him," Ranger said. "I don't mean that he's a dirty cop. But he's a man who has a very high libido and a long history of spreading himself around. And he's been involved with Terry Gilman for a long time...since high school." He paused again, holding something back.

"Ranger, if you want me to help, you're going to have to tell me everything."

"Terry Gilman's maiden name is Grizolli. She was married to Billy Gilman for a very short time. She was a professional cheerleader for the New York Giants before she came back to work for Vito. I'm still not sure what she does for Vito, but she's making a lot of money, and I mean a lot."

"And Morelli can't leave it alone," I added, finishing Ranger's thought for him.

I looked back over the pictures again. "Ranger, do you see anyone in the background you recognize? You know a lot more of these people that I do."

"I didn't see any Grizolli's," he said.

"Do you think Stephanie is in danger?" I asked, concerned.

"Stephanie is always a step away from danger, Sunshine," he smiled wryly. "I just try to be ready."

About an hour later, we heard a woman's voice over the wire. Stephanie was talking to Rex. She complained about being bored again, and she apologized to Rex for being so needy. The hamster didn't seem to respond. There were refrigerator sounds, bread bag sounds, a jar opening. Ranger told me she was making a peanut butter and olive sandwich. His eyes were sharp, but staring into the space before us, like he could see her right before his eyes. Ranger had used a really good bug. I was betting that a Rangeman employee foolish enough to get on Ranger's bad side was going to be on a garbage recovery detail at Morelli's every week until the pen turned up.

Steph's phone rang. "Yo," she answered. I saw Ranger close his eyes. That was Ranger's line, and to hear her still using it had him holding his breath.

Ranger entered a different number into the key code of the bag phone we were listening to, and we could suddenly hear Steph's entire phone conversation. I made a mental note; _Ranger is a very dangerous man – proceed with extreme caution_.

"I know you're just moping around doing nothing," I heard a woman saying. She had an accent that told me she was black, and the timber of her voice told me she was a boisterous, heavy-set woman of about thirty. I assumed it was her friend, Lula. "I'm going to pick up old Norvil Thompson, and I could use someone to ride shotgun."

Ranger burst into a grin and gave a single silent chuckle, but his eyes were shot with sadness. I gathered knew all about Norvil Thompson.

"No way!" Steph told Lula. "I'm never going after Thompson again. That old drunk is completely nuts. And my days of being peed on and rolled in garbage are over."

"I need help carrying Norvil out of the apartment and down the stairs. You know I can't stun the old man 'cause of his pacemaker, I can't hit him with my pepper spray 'cause of his asthma, and I can't sit on him because I might kill him. How am I supposed to get him to the clink without roughing him up?"

"How should I know? I didn't bring him in, Ranger did. I rolled around in the entire contents of his pantry and provided entertainment for the entire neighborhood, remember?"

"You were a good bounty hunter," Lula told her, reassuringly.

"Hunting men is what Tank and Ranger and Joe do best. Providing entertainment is what I do best." Steph was obviously feeling sorry for herself.

"Yeah, but they didn't make the front page of the paper, did they?"

"No, and do you know why? Because they are professionals," Steph chided.

"We were professionals," Lula argued.

"We were inept, unqualified, incompetent, bumbling idiots, and the laughing stock of the Burg. I'm done being laughed at," Steph insisted.

"It's a shame you quit. At least you were out there trying. Now, you're just acting pathetic."

"Thanks a lot," Steph said glumly.

"You can't be happy stuck in the house watching Bob chew on Morelli's shoes." It was obvious Lula missed her. "You need to get out, live a little."

"You know what happens when I leave the house."

"That's not your fault," Lula told her.

"I'm going to be a housewife, Lula. I'm going to have to figure it out," Steph said.

"So what _are_ you doing these days?"

"I'm taking cooking lessons from Joe's mom."

"Oh, Lord," Lula gasped. "Next Grandma Bella will be teaching you to put "_The Eye"_ on people."

"That could come in handy, you know."

"Not if you don't have any nasty old skips to use it on," Lula said, teasing.

"Call Tank," Steph said, and she hung up.

"She's really going to marry him this time," Ranger said with disbelief.

"Sounds that way," I agreed.

"She's not happy," he said, exhaling the deep breath he had been holding.

I shook my head. "Neither are you."

_To be continued…_


	13. Chapter 13 Elena's POV The Storm

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena created by AutumnDreaming._

Morelli was working a case and Stephanie was watching a movie. Nothing was happening at the Morelli house tonight.

"Have you given any thought to what we talked about?" Ranger asked as we ate alone in the kitchen at Rangeman.

"Not really," I said. Truthfully, I had been trying to push the barrage of possibilities away from my mind all day.

"It doesn't have to be just one," Ranger said. Maybe he really did read minds, I thought. Everyone said he did.

"It's supposed to storm tonight," I said. The weather radio had been going off most of the afternoon.

"And?'

"I like storms."

"And?"

"I thought maybe we could watch the storm roll in, together" I suggested, with a little shrug. It was lame, I knew.

"Try harder," he said.

"From about five stories up with through an open door?"

Ranger raised an eyebrow. "We're expecting sixty mile-per-hour winds, Sunshine."

"Yes," I said smiling. "It'll be the X-games of storm watching."

He leaned forward, pressing me more. "And this is something you've never done before, and that you want to share with me?"

"Sure," I squeaked.

He paused. "Maybe while we're waiting, we could play Truth or Dare," Ranger suggested, trying to sound playful, but there was a rough edge to his words.

"You have to start somewhere," I told him with a shrug. "Take it or leave it."

He flipped open his cell and hit a button. It appeared as if he had a weather related Internet site on speed dial on his phone. He looked at the radar loop playing to see which way the storm was heading and how fast. "Do you have a place in mind?" he asked.

I nodded. "I have a friend who owns a private grain elevator. I know the code to get in. No one will be there at night in a storm, and it's completely dark around there. We'll have a good show."

"Not to mention the risk of explosion," Ranger noted.

"You scared?" I teased, as if I were daring him.

That just got me a stunning smile. He almost laughed.

The storm was about to blow in when we got there. The sun should have been bright, but the sky was darkening as if it were dusk.

"I love storms," I said, looking up as the first streaks of lightning flashed.

"Then you're gonna love this one," Ranger promised.

It was just beginning to rain. I punched my code into the door lock and we were in. The elevator was about five stories tall. It was pitch black inside. Ranger had brought his Mag-Lite and a stadium blanket. I shined the light around. There was a small man-lift, but it wasn't to be used during a storm. The large motors and conveyor belts were dusty and silent. There was a rustling of small creatures in the dark, but we didn't care.

As we approached the spiral staircase by the door that ran all the way up and down the elevator, I turned to Ranger. "This is not an invitation to, well, you know…it's not."

Ranger just smiled, and started up the stairs behind me. I figured that meant "we'll see".

On the top floor, I unlocked the large double doors and latched each to the inner walls with their anchor hooks. Ranger tossed some large feed bags on the floor so we had a soft place to sit. I laid the blanket on top and we leaned up against the two foot high lip of concrete at the base of the door. Ranger was resting his arm on the concrete sill, the low wall snug against his side, one leg half tucked under him and the other bent, but extending forward. I was sitting similarly, opposite him.

"Get over here," he said, as if I were completely missing the point. I gave him a look that said I was uncomfortable, but he held out his hand and guided me. I was sitting in front of his bent leg so I wasn't snuggled too close. He leaned me back so that I was reclining against him with my upper back against his chest and my head tucked just under his chin. He shifted slightly, and suddenly I was quite comfortable. His arms weren't wrapped around me, but I could sense them around me just the same. One was on the sill along side me, and the other was resting on his bent knee. My leg was bent and leaning against his. He was warm and strong, and I felt suddenly safe from the coming storm, but it seemed that one source of excitement had been replaced by another. My heart was continuing to pump a steady dose adrenaline through my body.

The wind blew fiercely as the storm front moved through. The sky was dark and the lightning brilliant. It was striking the ground a few miles away and the thunder boomed hard enough to rattle the some of the machinery around us. The storm was approaching from the broad side of the elevator, so we weren't drenched. The wind was blowing a lot of the rain past the doorway. When the wind would shift and the rain would hit the edge of the doorway, kicking up a fine, cool spray. It felt wonderful as the heat of the day dissipated. When the cool wind blowing on my wet skin made me shiver, Ranger put an arm around me and allowed me to sink back deeper against his chest. He was so warm, and it felt comfortable just sitting and not talking.

I was finally relaxing into his arms when I felt the first kiss on my neck, and his fingers began slowly caressing mine.

"Ranger," I whispered in mild protest. "I told you 'no' before we came up here."

"I could change your mind," he whispered.

"I don't want my mind changed," I assured him.

"Maybe I do," he whispered, his lips brushing my ear, and a rush went through me. I know he felt it. He was expecting it, and it encouraged him.

He moved so quickly, I didn't have a chance to react. He slipped from behind me and allowed me to fall backward onto the blanket. Suddenly, he had me cradled in his arms again, just as comfortably, but this time, beneath him. I had several choice things in mind to say, but I didn't get a chance. I was only vaguely aware of a bright flash of light, a shocking bang of thunder, and an intense rush as Ranger pressed his lips to mine. I wasn't sure which event to attribute the rush to. When I hesitated, he closed in, taking my head in his hands, his long fingers sliding into my hair, and he kissed me again.

If I was going to get out of this, I would have to do it right now, or he _would_ change my mind. And then I would be angry with him. I would be angry with myself. Ranger was in love with Stephanie. He wasn't in love with me. This wasn't love. And even if we were in love, it still wouldn't be right. Nothing good could come from this.

I still hadn't selected an appropriate response. My brain was in a panic to act, and my mouth opened on it's own. Even I was surprised by what came out. I knew had been stored up a long time ago and had been intended for someone else.

"You're so used to getting what you want!" I spat at him, with a note of resentment, trying to push him off me.

"I want to give you something you've never had before," Ranger whispered softly against my lips, unmoved.

"I've had this before," I grunted, pushing harder.

"Not like this," he whispered against my lips. He seemed quite confident about that.

He was so beautiful, do demanding. My body was responding to him, and he knew it, but I wasn't about to give in. This was wrong.

"I don't want you, Ranger!" I yelled loudly, trying again to push him off me, my fingers digging into his arms and shoulders. I couldn't budge him.

"We'll see about that," he breathed, just a little menacing. No doubt this was one of many little titillations in his vast arsenal. He clearly intended to wear me down, but I wasn't playing.

"Get off me!" I screamed. I managed to pull my knee up and slipped my foot between us. I planted it in his chest, shoving my back hard into the floor and throwing him into a standing position. He was clearly surprised by my sudden burst of adrenaline. He stumbled backward a few paces. I wasted no time scrambling to my feet, backing away from him. I was shivering and angry.

"Do you really think I would give myself to a man like you?" I screamed at him. I don't even know where that came from, but the words were dripping with venom. I took a shuttering breath, as if my unconscious mind was trying to suck the words back in, but they were already out, and they were irretrievable.

Something besides his temper broke loose inside Ranger. I saw it in his eyes, and I knew I was in deep trouble. There was a moment when we both knew the rules of civility had been suspended. The only reason I drew breath or remained on my feet was because Ranger was allowing it. He had so much power; not only in strength and knowledge, but because of what he was actually capable of. This was a man used to exercising his will and asserting authority over others.

"I'm used to getting what I want?" He repeated my words slowly. He was half hidden in the shadows, and I couldn't see his face, but I knew it was distorted with rage. There was a space of silence when I could only hear him breathing. Then, without warning, he exploded, stepping out of the shadows toward me, his finger pointing like a dagger at my heart from where he stopped ten feet away.

"You have no idea what my life has been like!" he roared, his voice echoing off the concrete walls and caused a din of vibrations to rattle down the spiral stairs. I jumped, startled and speechless as pigeons burst from their roosts in the rafters.

Lightning flashed across the sky and was reflected in the flaming fury of Ranger's eyes. His straight black hair was blowing wildly in the wind. I was shaking in my shoes.

"Even you," he said maliciously. "You took one look at me and you wanted me. That's why we met, that's why we're here, remember?" he said, reminding me of the confession I had made to him just that morning. "What did you want? This face? This body?" He shook his head, disbelieving. "You wanted me before you knew me," He advanced on me and, gripping my upper arms, he shook me roughly. "Why?" he roared, throwing me just as roughly away from him.

He didn't wait for an answer. He was gone, down the spiral stairs. The echo of the slamming door tore through me.

I was stunned and confused. Ranger could have any woman he wanted. He may not be used to rejection. But I was nothing to him. I knew he was still in love with Stephanie. He was a mess inside, and I wondered if I was the only one to glimpse it.

I looked down from the doorway as I closed the windows. I let rain from the storm wash over me as I tried to compose myself. This hadn't been at all what I'd had in mind. I didn't really believe Ranger had planned it this way either. I watched him pacing back and forth below, wild with anger and pain.

Not knowing what else to do, I descended the stairs slowly, half hoping Ranger would be gone when I got there, but mostly afraid, knowing he wouldn't be. When I walked out, Ranger was leaning on the car, his forearms on the roof over the driver's door, his head hanging down. He was soaked from the rain.

"Get in," he ordered in a loud, angry growl. I was ninety-eight percent sure that he would zap me with a stun gun if I refused, and that was if I was lucky. So I got in without a word.

It was such a heavy silence as we drove that I was afraid to break it. Ranger drove calmly, but we weren't going to Rangeman. We were heading for the coast. My heart was pounding in my chest again. I really wanted to trust Ranger, even now, but something told me even he didn't know what was going to happen.

He pulled off onto a dirt road, and we drove for what felt like hours, but couldn't have been. Time had lost its meaning. Finally, he stopped, pulling off the road and into some tall grass. We were lost in the dark when he turned off the engine.

Ranger got out of the car and started walking away into the darkness. The keys were swinging in the light from the ignition. A lightning flash showed me that Ranger had paused, his back to me, waiting to see if I'd leave or follow. His shoulders were slumped, something I had never seen.

I got out and followed him down to the beach where we sat on a large log that had washed up. It had stopped raining, and the lightning played out over the water. I didn't say I was sorry. I didn't say anything. He knew, or I wouldn't have followed him.

We sat close, each of us knowing what the other was thinking. There were shifts in our tension, in our breathing, in our postures. I was trying to figure out what I had done wrong. I had relaxed into Ranger. That was what Ranger had originally wanted. He had intended to help me relax around him. But, he was wound up tight about Steph. He wanted to put her out of his mind and get her behind him, and he couldn't. And the sting of her rejection was what he was really reacting to. I could understand that. It was the intensity of such a passionate outburst that had surprised even him. He needed to get past thinking he wanted Steph, and admit that he loved her, and how much he had wanted her to love him.

"Well, that was something I haven't done before," Ranger said about an hour later, finally breaking the silence.

"Yeah. I don't think I want to try that again, though," I said, trying to sound like I was joking.

"This is why I don't do relationships," he said. "I just end up hurting the people I want to be close to."

"Real relationships are never easy," I said. "They're messy. We aren't perfect."

He groaned. "Steph thought I was. She thought I was Batman," he told me with a derisive laugh. "I can't be a fantasy for her and do a relationship." I felt the emotion rise in a wave inside him. "She wanted the fantasy. She never wanted me."

I wrapped both of my arms around his bicep and hugged just his arm, pressing my cheek into his shoulder. I held on to him a minute. "I'm so sorry, Ranger."

He put his hand over mine.

"I'm sorry too," he whispered. "I never meant to hurt you."

"I know," I whispered back. "We're okay now."

He kissed the top of my head as he took my hand an lead me back to the car.

_To be continued…_


	14. Chapter 14 Ranger's POV Daddy's Home

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena and Miguel created by AutumnDreaming._

Things had changed between Elena and me. Neither of us breathed a word about that night to anyone. I hated what had happened, but afterwards, something altogether different had passed between us; something more than forgiveness and understanding, and deeper than attraction. I didn't try to define it.

Within two days, Rex had killed the bug. Leave it to Steph to have discovered the most cost effective anti-espionage strategy I had ever seen. Sometimes I felt like I should be taking notes. Rex had proven himself to be an asset at last. But, that doesn't mean I'll miss him when he's gone.

Tank was waiting for me to tell him what to do about the relay. Elena shot me a look.

"Go pick it up. We're done," I told him.

I was far more interested in the sound of Steph's voice than anything Morelli had to say to the Mob. I didn't believe for a second Morelli would endanger Steph on purpose, no matter what was going on with Terry Gilman or the Grizolli case. But that didn't mean she wasn't in danger. My men were still tracking her cell phone and all of their vehicles. She had never kept a cell phone this long. She had never been in one place this long. I expected something unexpected to break any moment, but this time, things were different. Morelli's house didn't catch fire, the vehicles didn't explode, and Stephanie didn't return to the bonds office.

My cell phone rang later that afternoon. It was Rachel.

"Yo," I answered.

"Carlos."

"Anything wrong?"

"Yes and no. We're all fine, but something happened at Julie's school yesterday. We need to talk."

My daughter, Julie, lives with her mother and stepfather in Miami. I think about her often enough, but I'm not really sure how I feel about her. I rationalize. I tell myself she's safe, she's loved, and she's financially secure. I will be there if she ever needs me, but I'm usually last in line. I don't get calls about homework questions or requests to come dry tears when a friend betrays her. I get calls for annual holiday gatherings, where I am always shocked to see how much she's grown. I came to realize time and time again that I didn't know this girl with my blood running through her veins. We were complete strangers.

That is, until I got a call from Rachel that a psycho killer who wanted to ventilate me had kidnapped her. In the end, Stephanie and Julie were held at gunpoint in Steph's apartment. I walked in unarmed, hoping to talk to the guy. I knew he was obsessed with killing me. And he was capable. He had killed before. But there was no talking, just him shooting me. I went in to save Steph and Julie, but Julie ended up saving me. She wrestled the gun away and shot him just before he took my life. She shot a man she had spent a week on the run with. She had gotten to know him. She didn't like him, but still, that took more than a pre-teen girl should have in her.

What the hell do you say to that? I'm proud of you for shooting that man and saving my life? I'm sorry you had to shoot someone? I'm sorry you ever had to know about me? I can't believe that as little as I see you, you turned out just like me? I'm sorry you were kidnapped by a psycho because of me? I'd die for you?

All I could think to say was 'I love you'. I meant it. That seemed to be enough at the time.

But I didn't act like I love her, even in private. For her own safety, I didn't keep the pictures of Julie that Rachel gave me. I had kept her a secret until the kidnapping made national headlines. Probably everyone I've every hunted down had my daughter's picture hanging on their walls now. But I didn't. I tried to keep emotionally distanced from her.

I stayed away to keep her safe, I told myself. But it didn't make her safe, and now she doesn't know her real dad.

Me…a real dad. That's a laugh. A real dad is the man who puts in the time and for Julie that's Ron Martine. That's why my daughter's name is Julie Martine and not Julie Manoso.

This time, Rachel had called to tell me that Julie had been involved in an incident at her school involving a gun. Another student pulled the gun in the hallway during a dispute while selling drugs. Julie wrestled the gun away from the older boy just before school staff and the school's security officer arrived. She had provided testimony and physical evidence against both the seller and the buyer. Rachel was understandably upset since we almost lost Julie once. She wanted Julie to go to a private school where the security would be better and asked if I would help. She already knew what the answer would be.

"It's done," I told her. "I'll be down tomorrow. I want to talk to her about this."

"I'm keeping her home from school until we get her transferred. We'll be expecting you," she said.

I needed to see Julie so I could read her eyes, not for lies, but to see if she was really okay. If she was afraid, I wanted to be there to reassure her. I also wanted to hear directly from Julie what happened so I could assess what kind of danger she was in for myself. I called the Rangeman office in Miami and arranged for security to be tight around the Martine house.

The trouble at Julie's public school had been escalating for some time. That was my old neighborhood, close to my high school and my Grandmother Manoso's house where I grew up. Now that my daughter was involved, the problem had become personal for me. I knew it wasn't just drugs. There had been a move towards increased prostitution among the high school girls in the area. Lately there had been a disturbing number of disappearances, most of which were written off as runaways. I had been watching the situation deteriorate long enough.

What I was going to have to do was hit the streets and talk to the kids and their families. I knew I would have better luck with Elena along for the ride. Whenever I had worked this way with Steph, I was amazed how open and helpful people were. Steph would walk up to an elderly lady sitting on her porch or a mother watching her kids play and come back with more information that I could have gotten breaking ten pairs of kneecaps. Those women never would have talked to me. Having Elena with me would put the neighbors at ease, even if I was the one asking the questions. She gave me credibility by reassuring people we were the good guys.

I dialed Tank. "I need tickets for Miami for Me and Elena. You're in charge till I get back. I'll call you after I get there. Stay on Morelli, but don't get too close. And let me know if any of Voran's body parts surface."

When Elena and I landed in Miami, we were picked up at the airport by my partner, Miguel, in an armored Range Rover 4x4. Miguel and I were a lot alike. We were both in our early 30's, Cuban, with thick, straight black hair and dark eyes. We both had dark skin, but mine was natural and his was from cooking himself on the beach. We were both former Army Special Forces, and we were even dressed alike in Rangeman SWAT and each wearing a black Navy Seals ball cap. Miguel and I had been best friends since I moved to Miami when I was fourteen.

I introduced Miguel and Elena. Miguel had never met Steph. Actually, he'd never even heard of Steph since her antics had never involved the Miami office and my men don't talk, so there were no questions. He drove us to the Rangeman building, which is a plain office building just like the building in Trenton. The basic set up is the same, but the operation in Miami is much larger and the atmosphere is chaotic. We work more skips in Miami and the security side of the business is booming, so Miami has more employees.

I had an apartment in this building as well. I didn't even need to pack a bag. As soon as I got Elena settled in a guest room, Miguel and I went to see Julie.

We sat down with Rachel and Ron and discussed the school situation. Julie was at a friend's house, so when we were ready to talk to her, Ron picked her up. Then we all sat down and went through it again with Julie. She was sad to leave her friends, but she knew she wasn't going to win the argument to stay in public school. We talked about the gun. She wrestled a loaded .45 from a high school boy who was twice her size or more. Rachel was looking at me, as if to say it was my genes that were at fault for this behavior. I wondered if it was actually my absence. Did she think it would make me proud?

This was the first time I had seen Julie since the kidnapping. She was still a child in some ways. Her bedroom was still that of a little girl. But she was growing taller and she spoke with more clarity. Her eyes were far more mature than I wanted them to be. I had been informed that she was a tweenager now. It would only be a few more Christmases before she would be asking Ron to walk her down the aisle. Then I guessed I would visit Julie's house at Christmas, and I would watch her children grow up like a stop motion film as the years rolled by.

I couldn't tell what Julie was thinking as I held her face in my hands and looked into her eyes. I was thinking how I was haunted by those mirror-like features and how I dreamed about her sometimes. I ran my fingers through her long, straight, black hair - hair that felt just like mine. She had always been beautiful, even though I saw so much of myself in her. She was an irony. She was the best of me, made from the worst of me. And that made me both proud and ashamed. She deserved better than to ever know that. So I just told her I loved her.

"I know," she said with a smile, never doubting it.

_To be continued..._


	15. Chapter 15 Elena's POV Ranger's Miami

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena and Miguel created by AutumnDreaming._

I felt completely lost in Miami. Well, not entirely. There was mainstream Miami, which is a town like any other town with McDonald's and Wal-Mart and busy intersections and a downtown business district. But the Miami we were focused on was Ranger's Miami. It wasn't just a different town, it was a different world.

The first day out, Ranger and I took the Range Rover to an area of town where everything was in Spanish except the stop signs. There was a very clean shopping district, but we also passed some very depressed housing. I kept seeing the phrase _La Pequeña Habana. _I finally asked Ranger what it meant. It meant we were in Little Havana. Duh.

As we drove around a seemingly endless circle, Ranger explained that he had been born in Newark, New Jersey, and his parents and his mother's family still lived there. He said he was busted for stealing a car when he was fourteen, and his parents had sent him to Miami to live with his Grandmother Manoso to separate him from the friends he had been running around with in Newark. He went to Miami Senior High School in Little Havana.

"What was that like?" I asked.

He gave me a rueful smile. "You wouldn't understand."

"Well, just give me the Cliffs Notes, then."

"When I went to school here, there were still Cubans moving into the area, and they were a rough bunch. Today about ninety percent of the school is Hispanic, and half are immigrants. There are so many coming from Nicaragua these days that part of Little Havana is now called Little Managua. There are immigrants from all over South and Central America. Only a third speak English, and not all of them speak it well."

"Was the school any good?"

"Yeah, most of the teachers really tried to help you if you wanted to learn. The graduating class I was in was divided between the ones who saw education as the way out of poverty, and the illegal immigrants who didn't see education as important because they couldn't legally get a job even if they had a college degree. They were more interested in working under the table in more entrepreneurial ventures."

"Ah," I sighed. "But you did well there, right? Didn't you go to Rutgers?"

"Yes, for two years. Then I joined the Army."

"So, you lived around here?"

"Yes, not far."

"And?" That got him to roll his eyes at me. Then, he ignored me. He wasn't feeling playful today. He was worried about Julie.

We drove past the most insane sights. Cuban flags were flying all around, along with some American flags and several others I didn't recognize. Actually, I didn't recognize the Cuban flag. Ranger told me when I asked. There was a Cuban Synagogue that looked like it had been built by Fred Flintstone. We passed Domino Park, where lots of old men played dominoes and chess while tourists took pictures. There were cigar outlets on every other block and large murals of Latino characters with exaggerated features. Some were political statements, others were just artistic advertisements. There was a lot of gang graffiti. I gathered there was some kind of festival called _Calle Ocho. _I figured out that it's called _Calle Ocho_ because it happens on 8th Street, but I didn't ask about it. It's probably as famous as Marti Gras, and I'd just feel stupid, again.

"Ranger…" I said his name in a sing-song voice.

"Yes?" he responded, holding his breath, probably wondering if I had to go to the bathroom or if I was going to ask to be driven straight to the airport.

"Could you please tell me what we're looking for?" I pleaded. "You're causing me undue anxiety, and it isn't nice."

"Sorry, Sunshine. I'm just thinking."

"So, we're just driving, not looking for someone?"

"Just driving." He looked over at me when we stopped for a light. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. Are you okay?" He thought about smiling, but changed his mind. Maybe he wasn't okay.

We drove through downtown Miami, and close enough to the beach to see the water. Ranger came to Miami frequently, so he was right at home. He wasn't reminiscing or getting his bearings, and I knew he wasn't lost.

"You're still making me very nervous," I told him.

"You don't need to be nervous," he said, looking ahead as the light changed.

In Trenton, Ranger was always vigilant when he drove, always watching for a tail, always cautious. But here, he much more on guard and less relaxed than I had ever seen him. No wonder he preferred Trenton.

Ranger glanced over at me, then reached out and took my hand. "I promise to take care of you, Sunshine." He gave my hand a little squeeze.

Ranger drew his hand back as he turned a corner at Southwest 1st Street, and a long, white Spanish style castle. Ranger was watching my eyes get wide. He slowed down a little was we were driving past so I could have a good look out my window.

"That's my high school," Ranger said. I turned and stared open mouthed at him. He gave me a quick little smile.

"Life was hard, huh?" That school looked like a national embassy. It was the most beautiful architecture, by far, that I had seen anywhere in Miami. No wonder he got into Rutgers. "What did you have to do to get in?"

"I stole a car."

I just stared at him, disbelieving.

"This is where all the kids in Little Havana go to school. It's the public high school."

"Is it nice on the inside?" I asked, dying to see it.

"Better."

"Will you show me?" I begged.

"Not this trip, Sunshine. Maybe another time."

I sat back in my seat, and watched the neighborhoods around me grow more and more depressed. I could hear fighting and gunshots, and there were children of all ages out on the streets, barely dressed in the summer heat. Gang colors and tags were hard to pick out among junked cars and dented and spray painted trash cans. The gaiety of the multi-colored houses was marred by excessive weathering and the yards suffered from neglect. The landscape was dismal and depressing.

"Is this better?" Ranger asked. "Is this where you thought I belonged? What you expected?"

"Ranger," I started as I turned to face him, "Why are you so worried about what I think of you?"

He didn't answer me.

"Can I ask you something?"

He waited, his stone face on.

"Are you really a paid assassin?" I didn't expect an answer to that one.

"I do what has to be done, Sunshine," he said seriously.

"Why?"

"I told you before. Someone has to do it, and I'm good at it." He held me with those deep black eyes for a moment. "It's what I do best," he said. He paused, looking over at me to see if I had fainted or was fixing to jump out of the car. "And, I do what I believe is morally right."

"Morally right according to who?" I asked.

"I have my own code," Ranger said, and that was the end of that discussion.

I thought about what that meant for a long time. I looked out the window, completely lost. The streets didn't even have names here. At least a name would have provided a sense of identity. All the streets were numbered streets, going both ways. It probably made things easier to find, but I couldn't figure it out. My mind had slipped into neutral.

We turned a corner onto a short residential street with pink and light green and mustard yellow houses. The houses were no longer in their prime, but this appeared to be a slightly more civilized street than some of the others we had just been on.

Ranger pulled to the curb in front of a small, mustard yellow house sided with wide wooden slats. There was a long concrete sidewalk leading from the street to a concrete porch. Black wrought-iron bars were covering all of the windows. There was no driveway and no fence. The grass that was still alive had been mowed and weed whacked, but not edged. A sick looking rosebush was clinging to life at one side of the porch in what used to be a flower bed running along the front of the house. A couple well-established palm trees shaded the back yard along a weather beaten privacy fence. Ranger looked at the house for a few seconds, and then removed his seat belt and turned to me.

"My turn," he said. He pulled a key and a slip of paper out of his pocket. "Are you still willing to do this?"

"Is this your something real?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Is this where you grew up?"

"Yes."

"What is it you want us to do, exactly?" I asked.

"I just want you to go in with me." He looked back out the window again. "My Grandmother died while I was in the Army. I never got to see her again. I was on a training op when she died, and she had been buried three months before I found out." Ranger was steady and stoic. No tears on the horizon. "I bought the house after I had made enough money and had started Rangeman. But I haven't been inside yet."

"Why not?"

"The house had been sold, and another family had been living there. I don't know what I'll find when I go in there, but I know it won't be _mi Abuela's_ anymore." Ranger sighed. "I don't even know why I've kept it all these years."

"Were you angry when it was sold?" I asked.

"Yes," he groaned. "When I got back from the Army, I went to Trenton thinking all my stuff would be there, but everything that had been in the house was auctioned off. I know it was just stuff, but I was young and angry. I felt like they'd sold everything I was, all my memories, like they had sold my life, and no one even told me. I was angry with my father and my uncles. And there was a big fight. I haven't talked to them since."

"What about your mom?"

"I talk to her sometimes, and my sisters once in a while, but we were never really close. I was pretty close to my father sometimes, but one uncle was really more…I don't know. We were closer." Ranger studied the key in his hand. "I know the house is empty. Miguel has been inside, and he had hired someone to clean it after the previous owners moved out. I know they painted and they papered over my Abuela's kitchen wallpaper that had always been there."

"But you just can't help hoping something of her might still be in there," I suggested.

Ranger shook his head. "No. I know what I'll find." Ranger said. "I just don't want to find it." He handed me the key and the slip of paper. "Maybe after I see it, I can sell it, and be rid of it."

"Okay," I said, closing my fingers around the key.

We got out of the car and walked up the concrete steps to the door. I inserted the key, turned on the light, and entered the code into the alarm keypad, which was no doubt monitored by Rangeman.

Ranger stepped in behind me. The house was dusty and bare, just like he said it would be. The front room was more spacious than it appeared from outside, but then again, there was no furniture. He looked around, and walked to the kitchen.

His boots made a little sucking sound on the avocado and dark green linoleum that had a cheap Spanish print to it with sprinklings of mustard yellow. There was no stove, fridge, or any appliances whatsoever. The cabinets were open and bare and the avocado double sink was now home to a few spiders. Ranger walked to the wall by the old rotary phone, which was mustard yellow, and touched the wallpaper. It was brown vinyl that looked like bamboo or some kind of woven reeds. From the look on his face, it wasn't the wallpaper he'd wanted to see. He looked up at the faux-cast-iron chandelier light over the space where a kitchen table would go. It had probably had those flickering little light bulbs that look like candle flames. Now the fixture sat empty with out a single bulb.

He didn't walk to the bedrooms. He just walked out. I set the alarm, at least I hoped I had, and locked the door. Ranger was waiting for me in the car. I slid the key into my pocket. I don't think he even noticed. He started the car, and we drove away in silence. We drove for hours, going no place at all.

_To be continued…_


	16. Chapter 16 Ranger's POV Miami PD

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich. Helen a.k.a. Elena and Miguel and all Miami characters created by AutumnDreaming. _

That day in Miami with Elena, so many thoughts were crashing in my head. I needed to take the day off. I wasn't going to be any good at work until I had allowed my thoughts to process and clear. I had a backlog.

I could feel Elena beside me. She knew me better than Stephanie at this point. I kept thinking back to the train trip Steph and I made to Virginia. I kept thinking how close she had gotten to discovering the truth about me, about my time spent away from Trenton, how tantalizingly close I had allowed her, and she didn't even know it. I didn't see any advantage to telling her at the time. And the opportunity never came again. There was so much she didn't know about me, that she couldn't even guess. How could she even know if she loved me, if she didn't even know who I was?

I thought about waking up with her in my arms. She had more power over me than she realized. She had more power over me than I was comfortable with sometimes. I know she was resisting the pull we felt because I had warned her off and she had an agreement of sorts to be monogamous with Morelli, but there was no denying the magnetism when we were in close proximity. It was no ordinary magnetism. This was a super-conductor. I don't know how we managed to stay apart.

Stephanie had always complained when my pager went off and I didn't tell her what my text messages or phone calls were about. So I started to trust her, gradually. I told her who was calling, and I kept her in the loop with what I knew. I even let her listen in on the speaker-phone so she could hear for herself. I thought I was really making progress. I thought she would understand that I was ready for more of a relationship with her. Maybe she wanted to believe it so much she didn't trust that it was really an offer from me. Maybe I should have just said it straight and then maybe she wouldn't have been unsure. Maybe she wouldn't be marrying Morelli.

But what did I really have to offer her? Morelli had a house, a dog, a family she might not like, but they would accept her once they were properly married. Steph's mom loved Morelli. And Grandma Mazur…well, what can I say about her? I hoped Joe faired better with her than I did. At least he wasn't such a novelty for her. And Morelli could give them grandchildren who looked just like them and who would have family on both sides in a neighborhood where both parents had been raised. It would be more comfortable for all of them.

I didn't have a house in Trenton, just the apartment. I didn't have pets, and I didn't want any. I didn't have close relationships with my family. I wasn't even from Trenton. I knew Stephanie's biological clock was ticking. It had come up a few times. I had once told her I didn't do pregnancy, marriage, or anything non-consensual, but that I would act on partial consent. I know she had taken all of that to heart and I hadn't been able to erase it from her mind, even though I had once offered to get her pregnant if she wanted. She took it as a joke, but I wasn't joking. I was softening. She had marked off the first and last items on my list. I couldn't count the times I hadn't acted on her partial consent. I would never do anything non-consensual. That wouldn't get crossed off. The only one left was marriage. And I had been thinking about that. I didn't really think she wanted to get married. At least, not right then. And I still didn't think she wanted to get married to Morelli.

When she told me she was marrying Morelli, she implied that I had told her to. I was too stunned to respond, and I didn't have a backup plan. I wasn't prepared for this. I thought I had plenty of time. I thought she and I were making progress, and I thought we were on the same page. But time ran out. She needed security and I couldn't do better at the time. She wouldn't fair any better locked up in my apartment at Rangeman. I couldn't take her with me every day. If she was serious about getting out of the game, I didn't see a role for me in her life. Looking back now, I realized that if there had ever been a moment when I lost her, it was in that moment. If there was ever a time to have asked her to marry me, that was it, and I wasn't ready. In that moment, I gave her away to Morelli one more time…for the last time. I couldn't put her through that again.

As I drove the streets of Miami, I told myself I had to find a way to let go. I wanted with all my heart to let go. But I couldn't seem to make it happen. My heart kept saying "no".

It was 8:00 am and I was sitting in a DEA briefing with the Miami PD. I wanted to get a handle on the drug situation at Julie's school before I went door to door.

The room was full of cops, DEA, a few undercovers I didn't recognize, and several school security officers. DEA Special Agent Hernandez was giving a briefing of the drugs found at the scene at Julie's school. This was the real reason Rachel and Ron had called me.

"I think we're ready to begin," Hernandez announced.

"We have a new problem with an old drug, Flunitrazepam, trade name Rohypnol, referred to on the street as a "roofie". Flunitrazepam has been around since the 70's, but it has never been FDA approved and it remains an illegal substance. Most Rohypnol is coming into the States from Mexico where it has been approved for medical use.

"This is a benzodiazepine derivative so potent that the manufacturer only produces it in a one-milligram dose. It is ordinarily identified as an oblong, olive green tablet with the number 542 imprinted on it. It is used as a sedative, anti-depressant, and skeletal muscle relaxer, but the real problem, gentlemen, is that it has applications to assist in hypnosis and has been used extensively as a date rape drug. It flushes from the system and is not detectable in tests commonly used in the prosecution of a rape case. Symptoms include blackouts and anterograde amnesia, similar to excessive alcohol consumption, and a reduction of inhibitions. Not only does the victim not remember the rape event, onlookers often report the victim was quite cooperative and even willing. As a result, the manufacturer, Hoffman-La Roche, has included a dye in Rohypnol that is visible if dissolved in a drink."

"Flunitrazepam is most commonly taken orally with an 80 percent absorption rate. Effects are evident within twenty minutes and can last more than 12 hours. We have seen a suppository form that is believed to have a 50 percent absorption rate. However, the pills can also be crushed and snorted.

"It is addictive and the side effects of withdrawal are more severe than with similar drugs including rebound insomnia, seizures, and psychosis.

"The new problem, gentlemen, is that we are hearing rumors of experimental mixes on the street including crushed Flunitrazepam and other highly addictive substances, and the belief is that someone is attempting to create a highly addictive hit with intent to coerce the victim into prostitution.

"Miami PD Chief Espironza will bring you up to date on the situation encountered this week in a local middle school."

Espironza stepped forward. "Only a few days ago, a high school student was caught selling a Flunitrazepam mix in powdered form at a local middle school. The buyer mistook it for cocaine and there was a dispute over the price. This is the first time we have been able to get a sample and the substance and potency is still being determined. We believe an overdose would be lethal, and are advising the local Coroner's Office to be prepared to send samples for testing.

"We have assigned two officers to begin an investigation of current missing persons thirty years of age and under over the last three months. We are looking for a pattern or lead. It has been suggested that some of our missing persons listed as runaways or fleeing domestic violence or drug charges may have been abducted and sold into sexual slavery.

"The Human Smuggling and Trafficking Center estimates up to 17,000 people are trafficked into the US each year, most of them women and children. Let me clarify the difference between smuggling and trafficking. Smuggling is a situation where two willing parties work to cross an illegal or smuggler over state or national boundaries. Trafficking involves the victimization of the person being brought across those boundaries.

"Since human trafficking has received a lot of attention during the first half of this decade, we have been applying pressure and have created a situation where it is much more difficult to bring victims in from other countries. What we believe is happening is that a crime organization operating on the East Coast has opened shop to provide this "service" after seeing increased opportunity in this black market niche.

"If we are correct, we can expect to see an increase in abduction cases in the areas mentioned. The obvious targets are school aged boys and girls, prostitutes, drug addicts, homeless populations, and there will be advertisements on the porn channels on the Internet.

"Are there any questions?"

"How many cities are suspected to be involved at this time?" I asked.

"We have received reports of increased Flunitrazepam related activity over the last three months in nearly every major city from Miami to New York. It seems to be focused on the East Coast," Hernandez answered.

"Trenton or Newark?" I asked.

"We've had three confirmed deaths in Trenton so far. Two male, one female."

"Have they been ID'd?"

"The two males were both named Grizolli, part of the Trenton Mob family, and the female was a prostitute known only as "Jackie". She's on ice right now. No one has stepped forward to claim the body."

I excused myself and called Tank.

"We have a problem," I told him.

_To be continued..._


	17. Chapter 17 Elena's POV Miguel

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich. Helen a.k.a. Elena and Miguel and all Miami characters created by AutumnDreaming. _

While Ranger was at the Miami PD briefing, I had the day to myself. I had plenty of time to think the day before while I was riding around with Ranger, soaking up the atmosphere of his past life. I wasn't completely sure I knew what I was doing, but I knew the person who could help me.

After Ranger left that morning, I went to the control room where Miguel was in charge. He and Ranger both had offices here. They were partners, just like Tank and Ranger ran Trenton. I told Miguel I wasn't comfortable being alone in Miami, but that I wanted to get out and see it while I was there. I asked if he would take me to do the tourist thing. He agreed, maybe a little too eagerly. I think Miguel wanted to pump me for information. But I had a different plan, if I could get up the nerve.

Miguel drove me around in the Range Rover. I wondered what Ranger was driving. No doubt he had an even larger collection of hot cars here in Miami.

"So, you and Ranger have been friends a long time, huh?" I said.

"Yes. A very long time," he said, his accent much thicker than Ranger's.

"He said you were both Special Forces. Were you in the Army together?"

"No," he shook his head. "See, there were three of us in school here that were friends. Me, Ranger, and Alejandro. Ranger…" he started laughing softly. "He would kill me for telling it to you."

"You can tell me," I said with a teasing smile. "I already know about the car he stole and that he was sent to live with his Grandmother. He told me."

"Yes. Well, what he probably didn't tell you was how we met, me and Ranger."

"No. Tell me."

"See, before there was Ranger, I knew this boy named Carlos." I smiled. He obviously thought Ranger's moniker was a little corny, but it seemed he wasn't allowed to call him Carlos anymore. "This kid was new to the neighborhood and he was small. He walked with a real strut trying to make up for it. What he did was attract attention, and I mean the kind of attention you don't want. The neighborhood bully was on him several times a week, beating him up, but he didn't back down. He took some real beats. Well, I had been watching, and finally this one time he didn't get up, so I carried him home to his Grandmother.

"She was very upset he kept getting into fights. She blamed him. She said it was his own fault. I told her that this guy kept beating Ranger because he looked like a girl, because he had long hair. He still had a baby face and long eyelashes, and some of his T-shirts were hand-me-downs from his sisters." Miguel laughed out loud. "He really did look like a girl."

I laughed too. I could hardly imagine it.

"Well, she listened to me. She pulled out a pair of scissors right there, and cut his hair clean off. Oh, he was mad at me," Miguel laughed again. "Then, she took him clothes shopping. He was so mad."

"I'll bet," I said, still laughing. Ranger liked his hair to fall over his eyes, and he did not do shopping. He had never so much as stopped at a convenience store in all the time I'd known him.

"After that," Miguel continued, "we were friends, and we walked to school together; Ranger and Me and Alejandro, and a few other guys. He didn't get beat no more except when he shot his mouth off. Then we both got beat."

"When we were older, Ranger was like our leader. He was always reading newspapers from the trash cans. He knew lot of stuff, and he taught us things he read. He knew politics, boring stuff like foreign trade. He got good grades, but we weren't nerds. We were street kids.

"Ranger taught me English. I came here from Cuba as a baby, and my mother didn't speak any English, so she didn't teach it to me. I got by just fine. I didn't think I needed to learn. My mother married an American, and I had citizenship. Ranger showed me I had a future, and I didn't see it until he showed me. Ranger always sees the big picture. You know that about him."

I nodded.

"We didn't want to hang out at any of our houses, so we spent a lot of time on the street. Ranger tried to keep us out of trouble. His idea was that to see trouble coming and avoid it, you had to be out there watching what was going on in the streets. So, we learned a lot from experience, making mistakes, watching other people.

"Ranger and Alejandro were more wanting to prove themselves than me. They talked about being heroes and soldiers. They started dressing like that early on, and I did what they did. Alejandro's dad had been a Navy man, but Ranger wanted to be Army, Special Forces. So, after we graduated, Alejandro and I went to college here. We wanted for us all to stay together, but Ranger got accepted at Rutgers. It was close to his family and too good to pass up. So, he went. After two years, we all got accepted to where we applied. Ranger and I got into the Army program, but not at the same time, so we ended up making it through Special Forces training on different teams. Alejandro was a Navy Seal."

I looked at the Navy Seals hat Miguel was wearing. It was just like the one Ranger was always wearing.

"Ranger already had these ideas about starting Rangeman. He said we had gotten free training and qualifications and we should take those skills and make a lot of money for ourselves." I must have looked disappointed to hear that. "Money was the important thing in the beginning," he added. "Not now, though, or we would have gotten out a long time ago."

"Where's Alejandro now?" I wondered if he wasn't a partner in another city – Boston or Atlanta.

"He's dead. We'll never really know all the details. It's classified," he said.

"I'm so sorry," I said, putting my hand over my mouth.

"The three of us had arranged to have leave together because Ranger's grandmother had passed while he was stuck in a long training phase. He hadn't been able to go to the funeral. So, we all met back here to go to the gravesite together.

"We all loved her, you know? She was like a grandmother to all of us. We were standing at her grave. Alejandro had just got back from his first mission, so he was pretty gung-ho. He brought us these Seals hats," Miguel said, touching the brim of his ball cap. So, we were all standing there in black, wearing these hats, looking down at a little plastic marker. There was no stone at that time. One minute, we're standing there together, like brothers, having made our dreams come true and hoping Grandmother Manoso was up in Heaven looking down on her boys with pride. The next minute Alejandro was lying on the ground." Miguel stopped. His words caught in his throat.

"We had been standing in the open, no cover. We never saw the shooter. There was only one bullet. Ranger went through Alejandro's pockets. When we could look at things later, we realized there were personal things, like names and phone numbers and pictures. Ranger and I met with Alejandro's commanding officer and turned over the evidence we'd gathered. Turned out Alejandro's new girlfriend was a spy…not ours."

"And Ranger decided never to get involved with a woman after that." I concluded.

"Yeah, well, I always thought it was a stupid way to react to that situation. I have a family. Actually, though, that's why my name isn't on the Miami company. Ranger offered, but I didn't care if it was his name or mine or some other name. I make the same money and do the same job. I want my family safe, and I don't need the attention. Ranger likes attention. Always has, but it's still the wrong kind of attention."

"Miguel, can I ask you for a huge favor?' I pleaded.

"What do you need?"

"Yesterday, Ranger and I went to his Grandmother's house."

He looked surprised. "Did he go in?" he asked.

"Yes, but only for a minute. I went with him." I pulled the key out of my pocket. "I still have the key. And I was thinking that Ranger might never have had a chance to grieve for his Grandmother's passing. I'm especially thinking that's true in light of what you just told me about Alejandro. What do you think? You know him best."

"I never saw him cry. I know he was angry, but I don't know if he went through all of the stages of grief or not. If he did, it was alone."

"Assuming he didn't, do you think that if we restored the interior of the house to be as close as we can get it to the way it used to be, it would give Ranger a chance to sort of go home again and say goodbye? I get the feeling he's still away on that special training op, and that he's never come back…you know what I mean? It seems to me that Carlos never came back. He took on the Ranger persona and he's been lost in the world he created for himself ever since."

"Wow," Miguel said. "I'm with you on that one, but putting the house back together…that's something I never thought to do."

"You were there during those years. Could you tell me what's missing, what color the walls had been, things like that, and help me find some similar furnishings, maybe?"

"I don't know. It's Ranger's house now, and I don't want to go upsetting him."

"Miguel, I really don't think he could become more upset than he already is. I think he really needs to go home, at least to say goodbye."

Miguel thought about it as he drove to the little mustard-yellow house. We went in, and he looked around, seeing it in his memory more than with his eyes. He went to the corner where the refrigerator belonged, pulled out his knife, and cut a small square from the linoleum. "The green paint on the cabinets matched this," he said, handing it to me. "The dishes were that same yellow," he said, pointing to one of the little spicy-mustard colored dots on the linoleum. "Everything matched."

Miguel had decided to help me.

He pulled out a small notebook and walked room to room, making notes. "We're going to need a moving van." He called Rangeman, got a phone number, made a few more calls, and we left to pick up a moving van before going to a bank and withdrawing $5,000 cash from Miguel's Rangeman account. I had offered to pay for anything we bought, but he wouldn't let me. "Keep all the receipts," he told me. "We can always write it off as preparing a safe house. And if he's angry, I'll take the heat."

Miguel was on the phone as we drove, speaking Spanish. I could hear a woman's voice on the other end. He pulled the van up to a house, and a woman was waving to him from the porch, talking on a cell phone. They both hung up and we got out.

Miguel explained to me that this Cuban-American woman in her fifties was the mother of a childhood friend. She had made a number of purchases at the auction when Grandmother Manoso's things were sold. She had the kitchen table and chairs and couch and some blankets. The coffee table had been trashed, so that would have to be replaced with a different one. He negotiated a price we packed the polished wooden table and chairs into the moving van. We were about to leave, when she came back out, calling to Miguel. She said something to him in the way of an explanation, and handed him a plain gift bag. He thanked her many times, hugging and kissing her on the cheek.

He put the bag in the back and got in.

After a stop at the local Salvation Army and several other second hand and furniture outlet stores and a greenhouse, we got odorless paint mixed in several colors and some mild wallpaper stripper and set to work. I stripped the wallpaper in the kitchen and painted the cabinets. From Ranger's reaction, I gathered that the kitchen had been the heart of the house and the room most important to his memories.

Miguel and four guys from Rangeman painted the other rooms. Lilac in Grandmother Manoso's room, medium blue with dark blue boarder in Ranger's bedroom, bright yellow and light green in the bathroom. They set up large industrial fans to dry the paint quickly.

A team from the greenhouse was working on the flowerbed and had brought some houseplants.

Blinds were installed next, light bulbs replaced, furniture moved in, appliances delivered.

I had forgotten about linens and kitchen ware, which was just as well since the paint always changes colors when it dries. I took samples with me and tore through a nearby department store, feeling the time ticking by with increasing anxiety. Ranger called while I was standing in line with a full cart and a Rangeman whose name I couldn't pronounce.

"Sunshine, where are you?" he asked.

"Shopping," I told him. I hate lying.

"Alone?"

"No, I have a chauffeur."

"Anyone I know?" he asked, feigning jealousy.

"I'm sure it is, he's one of yours. Do you want to join me? I've just found the best store," I gushed, knowing the answer would be a resounding "no".

"I'm working right now, Sunshine. Call me when you get in, and call me if you need anything."

"Okay," I said. "How was your meeting?"

"Informative, but troubling. I'll tell you more when you get here."

"Ranger, before we go back to Trenton, can we spend some time alone here?" I asked, almost timidly.

"Doing what?" he asked.

"I have another _trust_ thing I want to share with you," I said.

"We'll see," he said, and disconnected.

_To be continued..._


	18. Chapter 18 Steph's POV Morelli's Mistake

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich._

"Cupcake, we need to talk."

There were few phrases in the English language I hated more than "we need to talk". Those other phrases included: "you're under arrest", "we're all out" (in reference to donuts and Tasty Cakes), "we're still serving breakfast" (when I really needed fries), and "take your grandmother with you".

I sat on the couch while Morelli paced in front of me. Bob got up and casually walked away. Bob, our big yellow mutt, could sense a fight brewing, and since we didn't have any food nearby to throw at each other, he figured he would just be in the way.

"What's up?" I asked, bracing myself.

"I don't know how to tell you this without upsetting you. If there was some other way," he sighed. He stopped pacing and looked at me, running his hand over his dark Italian hair, then rubbing his three-day beard.

"What?" I asked sharply. "Just tell me."

"Steph, I need for us to pretend to break up. Just pretend."

I could feel my eyes growing wide and my mouth fell open.

"I need you to go stay with your parents until I can get this case I'm working on closed up." Morelli said.

"Why?" I asked, anger beginning to simmer, but not yet boiling.

"That's the thing." He paced a little more, stalling for time. "Believe me, that this is not about us getting married. This is about work. It's about the Grizolli murder case." He took a deep breath, hands on hips. "I need your help on this, Cupcake. I can't do this without you."

"How does our pretending to break up help you on the Grizolli case?" I asked, my anger now up to a slow boil. "This had better not have anything what-so-ever to do with you and Terry Gilman."

"Cupcake," he said again, getting down on his knees in front of me and taking hands in his. "I love you. I want to marry you, just as soon as you're ready."

"Then, marry me now," I said, cutting him off.

"I would if I could. This situation doesn't change anything. But, right now, I need to help Terry. She's key to solving a very important investigation. This is a lot bigger than the murder of a couple Grizolli's." He pressed a kiss into my forehead and pulled me into his arms. "I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't that important."

"I don't understand," I said. "Why me?"

"I can't tell you why. I just need you to trust me. I need you to help me," he whispered.

"I would love to help you, Joe, but I need you to trust me."

"Cupcake..."

"Joe, you know I would never do anything to hurt your investigation."

He didn't look convinced. "I know you would never _intentionally_ do anything to hurt my investigation, but if I tell you and you get mad at me and go off on your own like you used to, I'm in a lot of trouble," he argued.

"Maybe if you would just tell me up front, I wouldn't have to go out on my own to find out what's going on," I shouted. "You really think that after all this time I can't be trusted?" I searched his face for an answer.

"I think bad things happen to you. I'm just trying to keep you safe." He pulled back and sat on the couch next to me. "I thought we were through all this. You're not a bounty hunter anymore. This is about my job. You know, cop stuff."

"I know, I wanted out, but I didn't think that meant you were going to shut me out."

"I didn't tell you what I was doing before. You just found out because of your job intersecting with mine. But it's not like that anymore. You're life is here, making us a home, and I want to come home and be with you. I don't want to talk to you about work. I want to leave it at the office. Work is out there, but home is just us."

"How can you spend all this time being a cop, scraping bodies off the sidewalk, and say that's not who you are? Of course it's part of who you are, and your work is always going to affect us because it affects you. If you don't let me in, how can I really know you?"

"Steph, I can't do this. Look, I just need you to go to stay with your parents, okay?"

"No, it's not okay. I need to know why, and I need to know right now," I demanded.

"You don't want to know."

"Are you trying to tell me that you're _pretending_ to be getting back together with Terry Gilman?"

"No, I'm trying _not_ to tell you that, because I love you."

I stood there staring at him, incredulous. There was no way I was going to be publicly humiliated yet again by Joseph Morelli.

I threw my hands up, speechless, and marched upstairs to start packing.

I called Sally Sweet to come help me move. He pulled up an hour later in his school bus. Sally was dressed as a man today in black jeans and a ripped heavy-metal T-shirt, which was a relief.

Sally gave Morelli a death glare, shook his head, and closed the door behind us. My clothes and bathroom stuff were in boxes next to Rex's cage.

"Where to, Sista'?" Sally asked as he climbed behind the wheel.

Good question.

I had given up my apartment. I was not going back by my parent's house. My mom would iron everything in the house when she found out I wasn't marrying Morelli. Lula was my best friend, but she didn't have room and she snored like a freight train. Connie's mother was already living with her. Sally lived with his bandmates. No room there.

I spun my car keys around my finger, watching the sun glinting off the silver fob still attached to my key ring.

"Rangeman."

_To be continued..._


	19. Chapter 19 Elena's POV Going Home

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich. Helen a.k.a. Elena and Miguel and all Miami characters created by AutumnDreaming. _

"Morning, Sunshine."

"Hey," I said with a yawn. "What did I miss?"

Ranger had filled me in on the drug situation when I got back to Rangeman late last night. He had given Miguel a funny look, but he didn't say anything to me about being gone so long. I only came back with one shopping bag. I told him I was mostly just window shopping because I didn't want to take stuff back on the plane. He thinks all women are nuts about shopping, so I guess he bought it.

"Tank is taking Lula to identify Jackie's body," Ranger said. "They'll claim her if no one from her family comes forward."

"Ugh," I groaned. "I feel so bad for her."

"Tank can handle Lula. She'll be okay. He said Steph was going with them. Then he's going to take Lula to meet with the detective in charge of Jackie's case to see if she can provide any contact information that might give them a direction or lead to continue their investigation."

"What are _we_ doing today?" I asked.

"Door to door. I want to talk to the parents of the kids involved in the drug deal at Julie's school."

"Haven't the police already talked to them?"

"I'm not the police," Ranger said.

"Good point."

We wore our Rangeman black, but Ranger asked me to put on make-up and wear my hair down. He said I needed to provide a softer image.

"Do I look charming yet?" I asked, leaning against the side of his desk.

"Sunshine, you're always charming," he said, pulling a pair of small golden hoop earrings out of his pocket and putting them on me. "But now you look more like a lady. It's a good look for you. You should try it more often." Ranger said, leaning back in his leather executive chair.

"I didn't realize I had been mistaken for a man," I quipped.

"Funny, I thought you were trying to be." He looked down at my dirty steel-toed boots.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I snapped.

"You know exactly what I mean." He turned off the computer and stood up.

"I can be the Ice Queen if I like," I said stubbornly, crossing my arms, still leaning hard against his desk.

"You can be anything you want," Ranger whispered in my ear, his hands on my waist, turning me towards the door.

"Thank you for the present," I said, blushing a little, touching he pretty earrings he'd just given me.

Ranger kissed me on the cheek. "You're welcome."

* * *

We approached a small house with faded pink vinyl siding and a large statue of the Virgin on the porch. Two small boys were playing with Matchbox cars in the dirt in the front yard. A tall, lanky black man came out of the house wearing a white undershirt, baggy jeans, and a revolver in his waistband where we could see it clearly.

"What'd you want?" he demanded gruffly.

"I'm Carlos Manoso, and this is my associate Elena. My daughter is Julie Manoso."

The gun came out of the pants.

"My son is in Juvie 'cause of your daughter, man!"

"Your son is in Juvie because was caught trying to purchase an illegal substance in school, in front of witnesses, and because he had a long list of priors."

I shot Ranger the "you're not helping" look.

"Get off my property!" the man yelled, pointing the gun at Ranger.

"Please, wait," I said, approaching with my hands up. "Please let me explain why we're here."

He pointed the gun up rather than at me, which I thought might be construed as good manners in Little Havana. He listened as I laid out the type of drug his son was trying to purchase, explaining that it was potentially lethal. He listened as I told him that his son could have been intended as a victim in the prostitution ring we were investigating. He didn't have to give any information to the cops. He could give it to me and Ranger, and we would make sure it got relayed as an anonymous tip.

He didn't want to talk us, so Ranger handed him his card, "In case you change your mind", Ranger said.

"You're Ranger?" he asked, recognition dawning.

"Yes."

"So, that girl was your daughter, huh?"

"Yes."

"That explains a lot."

"Yes." Ranger tried not to smile, but his eyes shined and gave him away. He was proud of her.

The man called his next youngest son from inside the house. He talked to Ranger about his brother's friends who had bought drugs from the same kid the week before. We got an address.

When we approached the friend's house, there was a young Hispanic woman watching us from the doorway. She ran out and started babbling to Ranger in Spanish. He was trying to calm her down. She was nearly hyperventilating. I was completely lost, but I tried to help Ranger walk her to the porch where she could sit down. He talked to her for about fifteen minutes, and she cried the entire time. Finally, he thanked her, and we left.

"What in the world was that about?" I asked.

"She thought we were the police. Her son is missing." He said, dialing the Miami PD detective to touch base with our leads.

* * *

"Please, can't we take the morning flight back to Trenton?" I asked, trying not to beg.

"We need to get back," Ranger said, all business today.

"No, Ranger. We need to stay," I told him, my voice firm.

"Why?" he asked, looking over at me while he drove back towards Rangeman.

"I swear, I have a good reason for what I'm about to ask you to do."

"And that is?"

"Ranger, this time, I do have something to share with you...something that may change your life." He cut his eyes to me. "I wouldn't ask if it were something trivial," I assured him. "I know...that night...when we fought" I stumbled over what I wanted to say.

He looked at me long and hard.

"Elena, I want you to hear me on this. I want to be very clear." I nodded and looked back into his eyes, waiting. "You didn't disappoint me that night."

"Those things I said..."

He cut me off. "I would have been disappointed in you if you'd let me have my way. And I am sorry. So, if that's what this is about…"

"No, it's not about you and me. It's about...I want to be there for you, to help you get through a very difficult time." I said.

He pulled over and gave me his full attention.

"I want you to take me back to your grandmother's house so we can say goodbye to her properly. I want you to tell me about her, and then I want you to take me to see her gravesite where she was laid to rest." I touched his arm when he looked away from me. "Ranger, can you do that? I know you don't want to, but I think you need to."

"You're right," he said. "I don't want to do that." He moved his hand to the shifter, ready to end the conversation. I put my hand over his, stopping him.

"Please, Ranger. It's time to do this. We can do it together." I took his hand in mine. "My heart is breaking for you. I'm not laughing. And I'm not expecting you to enjoy this, but I think you'll feel better after."

I pulled the key out of my pocket and placed it in his palm, curling his fingers around it and squeezing his fist in both my hands.

"It's time to go home, Carlos. It's say goodbye," I whispered urgently.

Ranger looked at our hands, and finally nodded in solemn agreement. "I wish I knew how."

"I'll help you," I promised.

* * *

The sun was setting behind the little yellow house when we pulled up, bathing it in brilliant red and gold hues. Ranger walked around the car to meet me. He placed his hand on the small of my back, and walked with me to the door. He noticed the fresh turf, the struggling little rose bush supported by a small trellis, and the flowers and green plants along the newly weeded flowerbed. He paused.

"Let's go in," I said. He handed me the key.

"No, Ranger. This is your home." I gave the key back to him, stepping aside.

He put the key in the lock and turned the door handle. I entered first and punched the security code into the keypad. Ranger walked in slowly, stopping only a few paces in. He turned slowly and closed and locked the door. He leaned against the door, resting his forehead against it, eyes closed, taking a deep breath. Then he turned and slowly surveyed the room.

Ranger stared at the couch. He looked at me.

"Miguel," I said in the way of an explanation. He nodded.

He looked toward the kitchen and held out his hand to me. I stepped closer and took it, and we walked to the kitchen doorway together, one step at a time. He reached out and turned the light on. The little golden bulbs in the candelabra cast a flickering golden glow around the kitchen. The chrome trim of the appliances and the door handles on the cabinets over the sink reflected the light, and the kitchen seemed warm and inviting in the flickering golden glow.

Ranger's gaze was focused on the kitchen table. He pulled out the end chair, and swapped it for the one on the side nearest him. He fingered a deep scratch in the back of the chair. Then he pulled it out and sat down at the end of the table with an air of ease that told me he had sat down in this chair a thousand times. He ran his hands over the polished wood of the table top and stared down at his own reflection. Then he put his face in his hands, elbows on the table and groaned.

I waited. He sat that way, deep in emotion and thought for some time. I stood behind him, rubbing his shoulders and upper back gently. When he sat back, he took my hands in his and gave me a little squeeze.

"I don't have words for this," he said, struggling to maintain composure.

"Ranger," I sat in the chair next to him at the table and took his hands in mine again. "I have something else to give back to you."

I reached out to one of the kitchen drawers and pulled out a large, black, well-worn Bible. _Anna Maria Manoso_ was stamped on the front in gold. The Bible was in Spanish, and I couldn't read it, but I could see that Anna Maria had written all over it. The family genealogy pages were almost full. She had written in the margins, circled verses, and filled all of the pages left blank by the publisher for notes. Even the end leaves were covered with scribbles from a slightly shaky hand.

Ranger grabbed me out of the chair and wrapped both arms around my hips. He slouched in his chair, pulling me tight against him, his cheek pressed into my side. He was silent, but I felt him shuddering. He gripped me as if for dear life. I smoothed his hair and rubbed his back and shoulders until his breathing became regular again.

He sat back, emotionally exhausted. Completely drained. I went to the cabinet and made some coffee. He was watching me when I turned around. We sipped our coffee, looking around us at the wallpaper and the light burning in the black candelabra. Ranger was deep in his own thoughts and memories. His hand shook slightly when he lifted the burnt-mustard colored ceramic cup to his lips.

About midnight, Ranger stood up, picked the Bible up off the table, and offered me a hand. We walked back into the living room. He sat on the couch, and I sat with him, pulling my feet up and snuggling into him. He turned on the reading lamp, which Miguel had said was very similar to the old one. He opened the book. I held it while he turned the pages slowly. I knew he had read every word before. I could sense that he was on a very familiar journey. He softly read some of the things she had written in the margins. He translated for me, and we read her notes together. Many were for him. Some even had his name on them. I ran my fingers over the name "Carlos" where she had printed it as part of a prayer she had repeated over the years.

"You were right," he said.

"About what?"

Ranger pressed his lips to my ear in a soft kiss. "About me," he said. He swallowed hard. "I couldn't get past losing her. She was the only person in this world that loved me without reservation. She always loved me, not matter how much I disappointed her." His arms tightened around me again. "God." He breathed, as if he were calling on all of Heaven to help him get through tonight. "How could someone so wonderful be wiped from the face of the earth like that?" He was struggling to breathe again. "She was just gone, like she'd never been here," he whispered, his voice raw and broken. "How could her own family do that to her? Not to her..."

I closed the Bible and put it on the coffee table. I wiggled loose of his grip and turned so I could put both arms around him. He buried his face in my neck and pulled me into his lap, rocking back and forth, shuddering with anger, the loneliness off all those years, and a love that broke my heart. No one with any sense would put his heart out there again after an experience like this. In his line of work, Ranger knew the chances were better than average that he could lose a woman he chose to love. He just couldn't bear to risk it. And I didn't blame him for fighting it.

But what Ranger overlooked was that a deep and selfless love - like Anna Maria's and Stephanie's…like Ranger's - is always worth the pain of separation, even separation by death, because it can never be lost. It's always there when we need it, reminding us that we truly have value, because that person gave us something precious. They gave us something of themselves to call our own.

_To Be Continued..._


	20. Chapter 20 Ranger's POV Goldielocks

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich. Helen a.k.a. Elena and Miguel and all Miami characters created by AutumnDreaming. _

Elena was sleeping in Grandmother's room when I penned the dates of my marriage and divorce to Rachel, Julie's birth date, and Rachel's marriage to Ron into the Bible. _Mi Abuela_ had never known about Julie, but I know she would have loved her more than anything in the world. I hadn't done her justice. I should have told Julie about her.

It was funny how, all of a sudden, things had changed - literally overnight.

Sleep was far from me as I lay in my old room. It felt a little different, but familiar. The ceiling had the same water stains in the corners, and the light from the street lamp was the same as it filtered through the bars on the windows. Elena had done a great job. As usual, wildly surpassing any expectation I could possibly have had about returning to this house.

I didn't know what I would do with it now. I decided I would bring Julie next time I came to Miami. I also decided I wasn't going to wait until Christmas this year.

I woke Elena at dawn. We had coffee and one last look around. I picked up the Bible. I was taking it with me. We turned off all the lights and locked up.

We drove to the cemetery where my Grandmother was buried. I was glad Elena hadn't asked for breakfast, because my stomach wasn't up for it. I didn't notice I was gripping the wheel so hard until Elena started prying my fingers away.

"Miguel told me about Alejandro," she said. Her eyes were red rimmed and swollen. I didn't want to know what I looked like. Tears ran down her face again easily, and she just let them. She lay her head against my shoulder, and we sat in the car a few more minutes before getting out. I held her close, feeling a mild panic and a reflexive need to protect her. My rational mind knew there was no shooter waiting for us here today, but my unconscious mind said we were unprotected, reminded me that there was no cover, and forced me to be ill at ease.

We stood at the foot of mi abuelo's grave. I had replaced the small, flat marker with a modest but quality black marble stone. She wouldn't have liked anything fancy. Her name, Anna Maria Manoso, was carved in a large script inlayed with gold. She lay beside my Grandfather, Carlos, who had a matching stone. I had never met him, but I knew she loved him dearly, and she always said she saw his eyes when she looked at me. She would have said the same about Julie.

Elena and I each had a bouquet of roses. Mine were red. I placed them in the vase attached to her headstone. Elena's were white, and she placed them in my grandfather's vase.

"When Alejandro died," I began, almost choking on the words, "I knew that what I was doing with my life wasn't going to please her," I said. "I wasn't becoming the kind of man she had wanted me to be." I looked down at the place where Alejandro had fallen. "I wanted to be a bad ass and make a lot of money and lead my own army." I smiled a little, thinking I still wanted that. "She wanted me to help people. She wanted me to be a different kind of hero. She was constantly telling me I was meant to serve my God and my country and not myself." I could hear her words echoing in my mind as if she were standing right behind me and I was sixteen again.

"I wouldn't listen..." My voice faltered. "I wonder if I lead Alejandro to his death," I admitted.

"Why would you think it was your fault?" Elena asked.

"It had been my idea for us all to be Special Forces, then come back and start Rangeman. He would have been happy paddling around in a dingy if it pleased his old man…and if it pleased me." I looked up into the blue sky that seemed like a vast ocean to me that morning.

"Ranger, he was a grown man. He made his own decisions."

"I influenced him," I said. "I can be very persuasive."

"You have a natural gift," she admitted. "But, I see you doing a lot of good with it, like you did yesterday."

"It wasn't always like that."

"Ranger, I know she's proud of you. And I know Alejandro wouldn't blame you for what happened to him. He was your friend, and he loved you. Maybe he joined the Seals because it was part of his bonding experience with you and Miguel, but he had the same type of training you did. He made a mistake. It cost him his life. But, it wasn't your fault."

She pulled my Seals hat out of her purse and placed it gently on my head as she kissed my cheek.

"You can't change what happened. But you can make them proud of you, and you can honor them, and take joy in remembering the time you shared with them. Don't think on the sadness anymore. Let them live again, in here," she said, touching my chest, rubbing my aching heart. "They aren't gone. And you're going to see them again. Don't you know that?"

"How can I know that?" I asked.

"We just read about it last night in Anna Maria's Bible. I know you believe, Ranger."

"It's easy to believe for her. For Alejandro. I just don't know if I can believe it for me," I whispered. "You don't know the things I've done."

"Ranger, it doesn't matter what you've done. What matters is that you know the truth, and that you accept it. God has forgiven you. I forgive you. Whatever you've done, Ranger, you need to forgive yourself. And then, you need to do what's right."

"Such as?"

"For one thing, you need to stop lying to yourself. You are in love with Stephanie. Stop playing with her heart. Stop torturing yours. Make things right, or let her go."

* * *

We arrived at Rangeman later than expected, having missed our first flight. Elena was exhausted even though she wouldn't admit it, so I sent her home.

Tank and I sat in my office reviewing and documenting what I had learned in Miami and what Tank learned from the detective about Jackie's murder investigation. We pulled a few files and started making a list of known dealers we wanted to question. I suspected that the recent death of Rufus Caine, a middle-man in the Trenton pharmaceutical trade, had something to do with the problem in Trenton. I planned to call on a few of his associates to see what kind of vibes I could pick up. We also scheduled a meeting to bring the rest of Rangeman up to date so we'd have the benefit of all our eyes and ears.

I headed up to the 7th floor about 2:00 a.m. I was beat.

When the elevator door opened, I saw a sticky note attached to my door. It was from Tank. _Goldilocks is back_. I entered my apartment silently. It was dark except for the tract lighting. I could hear the squeak of Rex's wheel. I never thought I would be glad to hear that hideous noise. But, I was glad. And I was confused. And I wasn't ready for this.

I looked in on Steph. She was sprawled across the center of my bed, wrapped in my sheets, head on my pillow. I rested against the doorframe, legs crossed, arms crossed. She sensed my presence as she always did. She rolled over and sat up on her elbows.

"You're not going to throw me out the window, are you?" She didn't look terribly concerned that I would actually carry out the idle threat I had made the last time I found her sleeping uninvited in my bed.

"Babe, what are you doing here?" I asked.

"I needed a place to stay," she said. I had heard those words before, too many times.

"This can't go on, Babe."

"I know. I'm through with Morelli." I had heard those words before too.

I had wanted Stephanie back, but now, it didn't feel good. She wasn't here because she wanted me. She wanted a place to stay.

"Steph, do you love Morelli? Do you really love him?"

She hesitated with her answer, looking down at the engagement ring on her finger.

"Do you want to marry him? Does it make you happy to think about being Mrs. Joseph Morelli for the rest of your life? Will you live and die with him? Is that the name you want carved on your tombstone, Steph?"

She looked stunned.

"It's a simple question."

"No, it's not," she cried. "I have never known life without Morelli. And I'm not sure I want to. But I just can't live _with_ him."

"Then you don't love him with the kind of love that he deserves from his wife," I told her. "You need to give that ring back." I was being a little harsh, but I was exhausted, and I wasn't in the mood for her vacillating conscience tonight. "Does Morelli know you're here?" I asked.

"No, he probably thinks I'm at my parents house."

"Why would he think that?"

"That's where Joe wanted me to go, but my family drives me crazy. You know that. I can't stay there right now My mother will never let me hear the end of it." She sat with her arms crossed stubbornly in front of her.

"Since when have you done anything just to please your mother?" I asked. "She worries sick about you. She just wants some peace."

She opened her mouth in mild shock. I'd never chewed her out like this before. Normally I would have had her snuggled into me by now.

"Is that the only reason you came here, Steph?"

"No," she said, defensively. I could see her shift into fight or flight mode.

"Well?" I pressed. I knew a flip answer was coming.

"I also came for the shower gel." She was spoiling for a fight, but I wasn't going to give it to her.

I turned to go. "You can stay tonight. We'll sort this out in the morning."

I left her alone in my apartment. I had to get some sleep. I stretched out on the couch in my office and slept fitfully the rest of the night.

_To be continued…_


	21. Chapter 21 Steph's POV Victoria's Secret

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena created by AutumnDreaming._

In all the years I had known Ranger, no matter the circumstance, Ranger was always calm, cool, and collected. I had come to expect Ranger to be reassuring and usually quite accommodating. Sometimes he was way too accommodating, which is why his name was sewn on some of my underwear. But Ranger's strange behavior last night had been a shock. He'd made me feel unwelcome and it had really frightened me. He had never been so short with me before.

It's true, I was intruding. I really should have called before moving my stuff into his apartment. I just figured Tank would have called Ranger the second Sally and I pulled up. Ranger always knew everything almost before it happened. If there was a problem, I would have thought Tank or Ranger would have let me know. I wondered if somehow Tank hadn't been able to tell him I was there. I had no idea where Ranger had been or what was going on. We hadn't talked since my engagement to Morelli. Given the fact that Ranger hadn't asked for his key fob back, I just assumed it would still be okay for me to use his apartment. It's not like Ranger forgot about it. I mean, Ranger didn't forget things like someone having a key to his apartment.

Ranger said we would figure things out in the morning. So, I waited, watching the early morning news on his big plasma screen in the living room. After the early morning news I watched the morning news, the mid-morning news, and the first of the talk shows.

I was tired of waiting and wondering and dreading. So, I got myself together and went down to the control room to look for Ranger. I nodded to Hal and Cal, who both looked at me with what might be construed as mild alarm. Tank was watching me approach without expression.

"Where's Ranger?" I asked.

"Out," Tank said. It was always a challenge talking to Tank. I was convinced he only had a ten word vocabulary.

I pulled out my cell and dialed. Ranger didn't pick up. I decided not to leave a message.

I noticed the cubicle where I had worked for a short time as Rangeman's skip tracer looked completely different. I stepped towards my old desk and came face to face with a woman. It took me a second to place her and then I felt the gears in my head seize up and come to a screeching halt.

"Elena!" I gasped.

"Stephanie!" she gasped, equally surprised. She jumped up from her seat at the research desk. "What are you doing here?" She, too, looked mildly alarmed.

"What am I doing here? What are you doing here?" I asked.

"I work for Rangeman," she admitted a sheepishly.

"I see," I said, my mind slamming back into gear and running back over the Girl Scout Cookie encounter. I looked down at the table where she'd been sitting and saw a stack of photos of Joe and Terry Gilman. "What the?" I grabbed them and flipped through them while Elena turned pale. I raised my eyebrows and stared her down.

"What exactly were you doing at Morelli's?" I demanded. "No, scratch that," I said, my irritation growing. "I know exactly what you were doing at Morelli's. You know how I know?" I fumed. "Because it used to be _my_ job to plant bugs for Ranger!" I stormed out of the cubicle, tossing the pictures up into the air and glaring at Tank on my way out.

"Stephanie, wait!" Elena was scrambling after me. "We need to talk."

My favorite phrase. I kept going. I would love to have left the building, burning rubber down Haywood, but I didn't have a car. I hadn't felt comfortable taking the sporty little mini-van Morelli had bought for me. I had expected to use one of Ranger's cars. But that wasn't happening this morning either.

I stopped at the elevator, tapping my foot. Where was the damned elevator? Elena was right behind me, and Tank was watching us from the control room door.

"Steph, this is just a job. I'm not Ranger's girlfriend."

"I know that," I said, blowing a stray strand of hair off my cheek. "Ranger doesn't have girlfriends. Ranger doesn't belong to anyone."

"That's what you think," she said hotly.

I shot her a look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"We need to go somewhere else to talk," she said after a moment's hesitation. We were on camera at Rangeman, and we both knew it.

"I'll drive," she offered, leading the way to the stairs.

We entered parking garage and I followed her to a black mustang with tinted windows. Ranger's cars were always very expensive, much more expensive than this.

She saw me looking at the Mustang. "Don't worry. I'm fully insured," she joked, trying to put me at ease. Making fun of my bad luck with cars wasn't helping her case.

"Ranger's?" I asked, doubting it.

"This is my own car," she informed me rather sharply. OK, now I was curious. What the hell was going on around here and where was Ranger?

We assumed Elena's car was also being monitored by Rangeman. We drove to the Quakerbridge Mall. Just in case we were bugged, we left our purses in the trunk, taking only ID and cash with us into the mall, although I suspected Elena probably had a gun stashed somewhere if Ranger had taught her half of what he'd tried to teach me. I, of course, hadn't brought my gun. It was still in my cookie jar, and my cookie jar was still at Morelli's.

"Steph, I know this is hard for you to believe, but I really like you. I want to be friends." I just glared at her. "I'm so sorry that I lied to you before. I didn't want to do that cookie business, but, Ranger talked me into it."

"Yeah, he's good at that," I agreed, thinking a little too longingly about Ranger's techniques of persuasion. Jealousy burned deep and hot. I was sick to my stomach thinking that I had been replaced, and so quickly too. Of course, there was probably a line to work the open chick job at Rangeman. Elena had her own shiny black car. She probably didn't destroy cars or burn down buildings or find dead bodies everywhere she went. Hell, she probably didn't even get kidnapped or shot. No wonder Ranger wasn't eager to see me in his bed.

"Steph?" She looked concerned. "Are you okay?"

"Just in a little shock," I said. "It's been a strange couple of days."

"Tell me about it," Elena sighed. No telling what she meant by that. I probably didn't want to know.

"Do you know where Ranger is?" I asked.

"No," she shook her head. "He was gone when I came in this morning."

I pulled out my cell and called Ranger again. No answer. I held out my hand for Elena's phone. She gave it to me and I dialed Ranger again.

"Yo," he answered.

"You bastard!" I yelled, tears stinging my eyes as I handed her phone back.

Elena's phone rang and she answered it.

"Hi, Ranger," she said calmly and almost too sweetly.

"Okay," and she held the phone out to me. "Ranger wants to talk to you."

"Oh, now he wants to talk to me," I said loudly and clearly so he could hear me, even though I refused to take the phone. "You know what? If he really wanted to talk to me he should have answered his phone when I called." I reached out and snapped the phone closed and then I took it and turned it off. I handed it back. My phone rang, and I switched it off too.

"You're just making things worse," Elena said, turning her phone back on. She dialed Ranger again. "Don't worry. I'll talk to her," and she hung up.

Great, I thought. Another calm, cool, and collected mini-Ranger. Like having Jean Ellen Burrows around doing her Cat Woman impersonation wasn't bad enough, now there was a Bat Girl too.

"Steph, there is nothing going on between me and Ranger," she assured me, reading my jealous thoughts. "At least, not what you think." Great, another qualifier. I scowled at her.

"And even if there was, you are, or at least, you were engaged to Morelli. Which brings us back to my original question. What were you doing at Rangeman?"

She was steering us into Victoria's Secret. We each grabbed a few items off the racks and headed for the dressing room. I looked back in time to see Lester duck into the One Hour Optical across the way. We were safe in the depths of Victoria's Secret. None of the Merry Men would dare to follow us in there.

We went into a large dressing room together and locked the door. I turned around and almost shrieked when I caught my reflection in the mirror. I was flushed and scary looking.

"Steph, Ranger is my boss, and we have developed a friendship. But that's all. Really. And I want to help you." She said, sounding as honest as the day is long. That's how she'd sold me the cookies, and I tried to remember that she was a really good liar. But she suddenly had the same effect on me that she did when she was selling me the Girl Scout Cookies. I wanted to overlook the fact that she'd fed me a line, possibly because she had also fed me Girl Scout Cookies, and they had been really good Girl Scout Cookies.

"Please, talk to me Steph. How can I help?" She was sincerely interested in listening to me, and I really needed to talk. So I broke down.

"I sort of moved out of Joe's," I said. She eyed my ring.

"What do you mean, _sort of_? Did you just have a fight, or did you break up?"

"I don't know," I whined. I gave a desperate little flap with my arms and sat down heavily on a changing bench. "Joe asked me to _pretend_ to break up with him and move back to my parents' house to make it easier for him to _pretend_ to be back together with Terry Gilman. He tried to tell me it was about protecting her, about some case he's working on, but I don't know if I can trust him with Terry." I ground my teeth at the thought of those pictures on Elena's desk. Joe didn't look like he was working on anything but Terry.

"Steph, I know a woman in crisis when I see one," she said soothingly, sitting down on the bench beside me. "I know I'm being forward, but I feel like I already know you. When I came on board at Rangeman, the men told me about you and Ranger being involved. They warned me that Burg gossip that might circulate if I was seen once too often with Ranger. I have to admit, I was curious, and I read everything the newspapers printed about you."

I was about to protest, but she held up her hand.

"I said I read the papers. I didn't say I believed them. I have heard stories and rumors and gossip. I don't pretend to know the whole truth behind the lies, but you'll forgive me if I try to connect the dots and you can correct me if I'm wrong, okay?"

I nodded. Sometimes it's helpful to have an objective opinion, I thought.

"You and Joe have quite a history, right? You grew up together?"

I nodded, tears starting again. "I've known Joe since we were little kids. He's been taking advantage of me since we were seven years old when he talked me into playing "train" in his garage. Then I when I was sixteen I lost my virginity to him behind the éclair case at Tasty Pastry where I worked. He was always so romantic," I said sarcastically. "You know what he brings me now when he's in the mood? Beer and Pino's pizza."

"Do you still love him enough to marry him?" Elena asked.

I shrugged and tried to wipe my eyes with one of the silk bras I had in my hand, but Elena stopped me and put them on a hook.

"I can totally understand the connection you feel to Joe because he was 'the one'. We always want 'the one' to be the one we end up with forever. It's natural to feel connected, and you're always going to feel that connection. You can't erase it. But he's not necessarily your one true love. You may have lost your virginity to Morelli, but I think that if you marry him because of that, you'll end up losing even more. What would have happened if you had waited for a guy who treated you with dignity and honor rather than a wrestle behind the éclair case? I think there would already be a ring on that finger. And I don't think you'd be looking twice at Morelli right now."

I was a little floored by this thought. "Hey," I said defensively. "Morelli has his good points. He's thoughtful, sometimes, like when he leaves me macaroni and cheese in my freezer because he knows I've had a bad day. He's good to Bob. Morelli is…comfortable."

"I'm not trying to make Morelli out to be some kind of a villain. I'm just asking if you are really in love with him, or if you are just afraid to let him go. Do you really thing Morelli is the only man out there?"

I groaned. My mind was going around in the same circles it had been going around for a very long time. I suddenly knew how Rex must feel on his little wheel. Limited vision, everything looks distorted, and even though the wheel isn't going anywhere, there just doesn't seem to be anything better to do.

"I don't understand why Ranger was so angry with me last night," I told her.

"Last night?"

"I was in Ranger's bed when he got home," I admitted.

"Oh," she said, sounding surprised. "Steph, why didn't you stay with your parents?"

"They drive me nuts. I can't stay there," I told her.

"But you've stayed there before, right? And it's not like someone is after you this time. Your family would be safe."

"What are you getting at?" I asked, blowing out a sigh.

"Weren't you really trying to get back at Morelli?"

I was about to start ranting and raving, but the look she was giving me told me not to try it. Elena had definitely been around Ranger too long.

"Steph," she said, slowly, getting ready to run it home. "Did you come to Rangeman with the intention of using Ranger to get back at Morelli?"

I sat there stunned for a minute. Was that why Ranger was angry with me?

"Do you know anything about Morelli's case or his plans regarding Terry?" she asked.

"No. He doesn't trust me enough to tell me," I fumed. "Do you know?" She nodded.

"I know a little. Morelli is trying to protect you."

"What's he trying to protect me from now? The Mob?" I said sarcastically.

"Yes," she said, sounding quite serious. "I know that there are lives at stake, and that Morelli's case is tied to the death of your friend, Jackie."

"That's how Jackie died?" I gasped. "The Mob?"

"Quite possibly," Elena nodded. "This thing is big, Steph, and if Morelli's got a lead, he's not in good conscience going to let it go. Joe probably thinks you're better off mad and alive than involved and dead."

"I don't like it when Ranger and Morelli get together to discuss me and try to make my decisions for me." I was suddenly afraid that Elena was right, and that Ranger surely had gone to see Morelli. "Nobody trusts me!" I complained.

"That's not true," she said gently. "Someone kept you in the loop on the Dickie investigation."

"It sure wasn't Morelli," I told her. "It was Ranger. It's always been Ranger," I admitted. It was true. He'd told me everything he knew and let me in on the investigation with him one hundred percent, which was a first.

"And what about you and Ranger?" she continued. "As I understand it, Ranger took you on as a trainee bounty hunter. He's been shot helping you, he's given you cuffs, guns, cars, assistance, back-up, bodyguards, and he's hired you on at Rangeman whenever you've needed money. Right?"

I nodded.

"Rumor also has it that he took care of a problem named Abruzzi a while ago."

Abruzzi tried to kill me. Ranger's calm but deadly cold stare was probably the last thing Abruzzi saw before his ticket was punched. Ranger had warned him. Morelli had broke the news of Abruzzi's apparent suicide to me with an air of relief, and he'd never considered opening the case for further investigation. Ranger and Morelli had an unspoken understanding. Come to think of it, they had a lot of unspoken understandings. But we all knew that Ranger had killed Abruzzi to protect me and to send a message to discourage others who might target me.

"Abruzzi committed suicide," I said. "Ranger was never a suspect." Elena didn't press the matter.

"Ranger has let you use his apartment, many times," she continued down a mental list she seemed to have already had prepared.

"Yes," I agreed.

"He's gone with you to eat dinner at your parents' house?" she asked, eyebrows raised. I appreciated her shrewd understanding that Ranger eating dinner at my parents' house was more impressive than his killing Abruzzi.

I nodded again.

"Has Ranger ever told you that he loves you?"

Again, I nodded, looking down at my feet. "Yes, but he says it's serious. He told me I'm just his entertainment."

"How did that make you feel?" she pressed.

"How do you think it made me feel? It hurt." A tear ran down my cheek, followed by another. "It was a bitter disappointment to hear him say that. He gave me cars because his men liked to place bets on how long the car would last. It wasn't because he loved me."

"Have you ever told him that you love him?"

"Not in so many words."

"Don't you think it hurts him to believe that you aren't serious about him, that you consider him a resource or a fantasy rather than a real love interest?"

"Ranger makes the rules, not me."

"Ranger's been respecting your rules for quite some time." She looked me right in the eye. "Do you love him, Steph?"

"Yes," I said. "I love Ranger." There, I had finally admitting it out loud to another human being. "But I love Morelli too."

"Love isn't easy. It requires us to make sacrifices. Painful sacrifices. That's part of proving our love for someone else. If we don't demonstrate it, it doesn't mean much. I know you and Morelli love each other, but you're both struggling with the sacrifice part. I'm sure he does things for you and you do things for him, but you both seem to expect the other to understand that other things sometimes take priority over your commitment to each other, and that will never work."

"It never has worked." I blew out another sigh.

"I know that you have gone out of your way to help Ranger. During those times you put Ranger first, and Morelli had to take a back seat. I'm sure you thought he should trust you, but that's not how a marriage quality relationship works. That was exactly like Joe asking you to move out and trust him be faithful to you while attempting to protect Terry. There's a history between Joe and Terry, just like there's a history between you and Ranger. And unless and until you and Morelli are able to put your relationship first and make it exclusive and closed to these kinds of temptations, it's not going to work, Steph."

"I know," I agreed, wiping my nose on my sleeve.

"So, what about Ranger? It sounds to me like Ranger's made a lot of sacrifices for you." I nodded. "Steph…forget what Ranger says. Look at what he shows you. He's not perfect. He's just a man. And he's had his defenses up for a long, long time."

"He doesn't want me to stay at Rangeman anymore," I said, nearing tears again. "He didn't even stay in his apartment with me last night. In fact, he didn't stay with me the last time I stayed at his apartment, either."

"What did you say to him? What explanation did you give for suddenly showing up unexpected in his apartment?"

"I told him I was through with Morelli," I said, looking back at the ring still on my finger.

Elena was also looking at my ring. "Did you tell Ranger that you needed him, or wanted him, or that you'd missed him?"

I shook my head slowly, tears coming in waves now.

"I told him I needed a place to stay, and that I was there for the shower gel," I cried. "I knew that was a big mistake as soon as I said it. That look on Ranger's face was something I had never seen before."

"I think you probably hurt his feelings, a lot," she said, rubbing my back.

"I know. And I just yelled at him and called him a bastard." I couldn't believe I had done that. What was wrong with me?

"Steph, you're a wonderful person. Why do you think these two guys are willing to put up with all of this to be with you? I can't speak for Morelli, but I know Ranger loves you more than you seem to know. He'd forgive you anything if you would just show him that you care _about_ him and not just about what he gives you. And I mean what he gives you emotionally, not just things."

"You don't understand how it is with Ranger," I told her. "Ranger once told me that there was 'no price on what we give each other, not financial, not emotional'. He said it has to be that way."

"What do you think he meant my that?" she asked.

"I don't know for sure. I think he meant that he didn't care how much money I cost him, and in exchange I wasn't supposed to ask for anything emotional from him. He only wants a physical relationship. That's how Ranger operates. He says he's a mercenary. He has a price for everything. It's the same arrangement he has with his car dealer. He gets all the shiny new cars he wants in exchange for services provided. Well, he's been providing me services, and sometime he expects to collect."

"I see," she said, sounding a little surprised. "Are you sure that's really how he feels about you now, or was that how he presented his feelings earlier on in your relationship?"

"Okay," I admitted, "Yes, that was a while ago, but he hasn't revised that statement. And besides, if Ranger was in love with me, would he keep sending me back to Morelli? And why didn't he tell me about Morelli and Terry? Even as a friend, he should have told me."

"You know what I think?" She said, pulling back and wiping some of my tears with her sleeve. "I think he's talking to Morelli right now, and he didn't answer your calls because he hasn't decided what he thinks about this situation yet. We already knew Morelli was working on the Grizolli case and that Terry is involved somehow. When Ranger gets back, ask him nicely and I'm sure he'll tell you anything he knows, whether he thinks you want to hear it or not."

"Do you really think Morelli was telling me the truth about Terry?" I asked. I really wanted to believe that Joe was over Terry, but she just kept coming back like a bad case of herpes.

"Ranger gave Morelli the benefit of the doubt. He wanted to talk to him before making any decision about his involvement with Terry, and I would imagine he's taking the same approach concerning your sudden appearance. After all, you turned up still wearing an engagement ring," Elena pointed out. "In his mind, that means you still belong to Morelli, and he's not comfortable harboring you under these conditions."

I took a deep breath. "I hate this!"

"Don't jump to conclusions just yet. Have a little faith. Wait until you talk to Ranger," she said, encouragingly.

I nodded.

"You know what we need?" she asked, a sly smile spreading across her lips. "Fries."

I smiled as she helped me up.

"Yeah. Coke and fries," I said.

We walked back into the mall. "Think we can be friends?" she asked.

"Only if you're buying," I said, trying not to laugh at Lester wearing glasses.

"I think I can afford a coke and fries for my new friend," Elena said, smiling and waiving at Lester. Moments later we passed Hal, sitting on a bench trying to hide behind a newspaper. "But those guys are on their own."

_To be continued..._


	22. Chapter 22 Ranger's POV Ranger & Morelli

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena created by AutumnDreaming._

I walked unceremoniously into Morelli's office. Kicking the door shut, I slid into the chair opposite the desk. I stretched one leg out and rested my elbows on the arm rests. I steepled my fingers, tapping my index fingers together, looking annoyed. Joe raised his eyebrows, trying to hide his startled face. He waited for me to begin.

"Want to tell me what Stephanie is doing in my bed?" I asked.

Morelli just sat there, looking neither stunned nor surprised, but obviously disappointed. "I thought you were out of town," he said, tossing a pencil back into a coffee cup full of pencils. "She's supposed to be at her parents' house."

"She's supposed to be with you," I snarled. "I was told you were getting married. She was going to be a housewife. Now I'm being told she needs a place to stay while she looks for a job and a new apartment."

"Great," he spat. "Here we go again."

"No." I said firmly.

"No?" he repeated, eyebrows raised.

"No." We stared at each other for a long moment. "The bouncing back and forth between us is over."

"Oh, really? You think you can manage her better than I can? Well, good luck getting her to…"

"Shut up, Morelli," I snapped, cutting him off, leaning forward. "Do you really want to marry her? Have a family with her? Can you be faithful to her? Can you her first before everything else? Even before your job? Before Terry?" He winced. "I don't see you making that happen."

"What did she tell you?" Morelli asked.

"I wanted to hear your side." I waited.

"It sounds like you've already made up your mind," he said, pushing back from the desk, leaning back into his chair.

"If I had, I wouldn't be here." I glared at him. "What the hell are you doing with Terry Gilman?"

"What do you know?" he asked.

"More than Steph," I said, answering his underlying question. Morelli doesn't share very well. But, as always, he didn't have much choice where I was concerned.

"I am asking Terry to provide me with intel on Vito Grizolli's nephew, Kenny Martin. Kenny has been put in charge of the Trenton operation you were investigating in Miami."

"How does that involve Steph?" I asked.

"Terry has made a few demands."

"Such as?"

"Such as that I make our private relationship much more public."

"Why?"

"Kenny Martin is Vito Grizolli's nephew and Terry's cousin. When the case breaks, Kenny's involvement will appear to implicate Vito and possibly Terry. Terry assures me that Kenny has gone out on his own and has been disowned by Vito. Terry believes that a public connection to me, as a Trenton cop, will shed a more respectable light on her when Vito's family is examined during the ensuing investigation."

"So, she's seeking protection from prosecution?"

"Sort of," he hedged.

"And?"

"And, Terry won't help me nail Kenny unless I make good on her demands. And I can't do that if everyone thinks Steph and I are still getting married."

"So, your plan is to _appear_ to be involved with Terry until after the investigations are concluded, and then you plan to marry drop the pretense and Steph?"

"I'm figuring it will be over in about two months." Morelli leaned forward on his elbows. "Ranger, will you keep her safe for me until…"

"Not this time," I said firmly, cutting him off again. "I'm not buying it. You can arrange protection from prosecution through legal channels, not personal favors. You're in a very compromising situation, Morelli. You realize you're crawling in bed with Vito Grizolli when you crawl in bed with Terry? What do you think will happen to Stephanie if Vito steps in to make sure Terry stays happy?"

"Let me worry about Terry," he said, waiving me off.

"You'd better worry about me." I told him, not bothering to mask the threat.

"You'll keep her safe. I know you will. And then she'll come back to me, Manoso. She always does." He was so sure of himself. My knuckles itched to knock that smile off his face, but I just gave him a smug smile of my own as I got up from my chair.

"You have it backwards, Morelli. I always get the best of Steph. She just recuperates at your place. Then she comes back to me for her next great adventure."

He wrinkled his nose, but didn't say anything.

"I've been wondering," I said, turning to leave. "Do you really want to marry Steph, have you just preventing her from marrying someone else?"

"You going to marry her, Ranger?"

I grinned wide enough to make him worry. "Wouldn't that be an adventure?" And I closed the door behind me.

_To be continued..._


	23. Chapter 23 Steph's POV Reason 2 ReJoyce

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena created by AutumnDreaming._

Elena and I were enjoying our fries and Cokes at McDonald's while watching the mall shoppers parade by like some kind of misguided fashion show.

"We should go to Macy's while we're here," I said. "I want to buy my own shower gel. I can't keep using Ranger's."

"Yeah, I thought you smelled familiar," Elena said, giving me a sly eye. My guilty secret wasn't much of a secret. Who didn't love the way Ranger smelled?

Suddenly, my eye caught a familiar shade of orange-red hair. It was Joyce Barnhardt, and she was incoming.

"We have to go now," I said, grabbing up our tray and tossing it, tray and all, into the trash container by the exit. I took off at a brisk pace. Elena was scrambling behind me, trying to catch up.

"Who are we running from?" she asked, sounding a little breathless.

"Joyce Barnhardt, my arch-nemesis."

"What does she want?" Elena asked, jogging along side me. She'd spotted Joyce following us, which wasn't difficult. She was wearing a shiny black bustier and black leather pants three sizes too small. Her eyes were outlined with thick black mascara and fake lashes. Her long fake fingernails were blood red to match her over-inflated lips, which matched her over-inflated bosom.

I looked behind me. She was still coming, her black high-heeled leather boots clicking mechanically on the tile floor like a fourth-generation Terminator. "Who knows, but it can't be good," I told her.

"Is that her real hair?" Elena asked.

"Some of it," I said, panting. I was already out of breath.

We ducked into Macy's with Joyce hot on our heels. We ran up the escalator and barreled down the aisle to the bedding. We both had the same idea. We each ducked under the gauzy draperies flowing down from one of the ornate beds on display. We could barely see each other, let alone Joyce, but after a moment we heard her as she passed by with an ominous click-click-click.

After a few moments, we backed out of the display. We looked around, and when we were sure the coast was clear, we headed back down the escalator to the cosmetics counter.

"You know, Joyce actually started out working here at Macy's cosmetics counter. She was doing makeovers before she went to work for Vinnie," I said.

Elena choked. "Nuh-uh. She was doing makeovers?" She laughed. "She looks like a vampire?"

"I can't imagine how many perfectly nice looking women ran out to have radical elective surgery after spending an hour being criticized by Joyce," I mused.

"So, what's the story with you and Joyce?" she asked.

"Well, let's see. In first grade, she threw my crayons in the toilet. In second grade, she spit in my lunch and spilled water in my seat and told everyone I'd wet my pants. In third grade, she told everyone I didn't wear underpants. In fourth grade, she said I had three nipples. In high school, she took a picture of me in the bathroom and distributed 200 copies as a flyer. And, as and adult, even though she's already had her fair share of husbands, she decided she had to have mine…on my brand new dining room table. Joyce is like a cancerous lump in my life that I desperately want removed," I huffed.

"I see," she smiled. "So, you're not really friends, then."

"Not hardly," I snarled, sniffing my wrist. "Are you going to buy anything?" I asked Elena.

"I don't usually wear this stuff," she said. "My favorite is just plain tea rose. My sister sends me a bottle every year for my birthday."

"What about something for a special occasion?"

"I'm sure I don't need anything," she said, blushing a little.

"Yes you do," I teased. "If you're not in love with Ranger, there has to be someone extra special. You can tell me."

"Maybe there is," she admitted, but she was going to be tightlipped about it. "I'm saving something special, for later."

"Like what? Something expensive?" I asked.

"Not at all. Just something special. Something I know he likes."

"Well, I think I need shower gel for _now_. You can't go wrong with a good shower gel," I said. Lesson learned. I was contemplating the Donna Karan combo, mostly because it came with a Cashmere Mist satchel that I really liked, when I felt a hand on my shoulder spinning me around.

"Why, Stephanie Plum. What a surprise," Joyce cooed in her most sickening tone.

"Hello, Joyce," I said with an icy chill in my voice.

"Goodness, I see you've been crying," she crooned gleefully. "Oh, I was so sorry to hear about your unfortunate luck with Morelli."

I dropped the bottle of Donna Karan hard on the glass display case. Thank goodness it didn't break. How had word gotten around so quickly? I hadn't really agreed to anything. Had Morelli already spread the word without talking to me further?

Elena saw my shock register, and rushed to the rescue.

"Of course she's been a little weepy today. This is such a happy day. I mean, getting back together with Dickie after all this time." I couldn't believe the snotty, uptown inflection she managed to put into her voice.

Now it was Joyce's turn to gape.

"Dickie?" she repeated, looking from me to Elena and back again. "No way!"

Elena burst into spontaneous laughter. "Oh, please! As if _you_ didn't know!" She laughed again, as if Joyce was telling a really good joke. "That's good. Morelli. I mean, why would Steph be broken up about Morelli? Pah-lease. Just look at her! She's radiant. And why not? She's on her way to her second honeymoon with Dickie. Look at the ring he got her!" She held up my ring finger for Joyce's inspection.

I was shocked. I didn't know that Elena knew about Dickie and the $40 million he stole from his now-deceased law partners' drugs, guns, and money laundering scheme. The money was still tied up in court proceedings. Joyce, the consummate gold-digger, had all but had her hands on it when Dickie was half captured, half rescued, by Morelli. When she found out Dickie had turned the money over to the Feds, Joyce had told Dickie off but good. Dickie still didn't have the money, but Joyce didn't know that.

I caught on quick and played along. I wiped my nose with him left hand, and then extended my hand to Joyce so she could inspect the ring. I didn't want her too close. She looked down her nose and the ring, and then made a disgusted face and stepped back.

"I'm just picking up a few last-minute items. We're going to Barbados." The lie rolled off my tongue all my itself. "Oh, I need to get some shoes, too…for the beach," I said in an offhanded way to Elena.

"Oh, yes, of course," she cooed. "And maybe a sun hat to match."

"Dickie?" Joyce squeaked. "You hate Dickie."

"Well, I was so distraught thinking he'd been killed or worse when his crazy partner, Petiak, was after him. We talked it out, and …I still love him," I choked, trying not to vomit. I was out of lies, so Elena picked it up.

"It's so romantic. They're practically eloping. I wish I could be there, but it's a private ceremony. Family only. You understand."

"When? Where?" Joyce demanded breathlessly.

"This afternoon, at Vinnie's beach house", I said. Recognition flashed in Joyce's eyes. She knew where it was. I only knew where it was because Connie had a spare key. She helped me and Lula keep a Slayers gang member tied up there once. We had kidnapped him to get information, but then none of us could hit him, so we had to wait for Ranger to persuade him talk. Ranger only had to hit him once in the knee with his Mag-Lite and threaten to leave him alone with Tank to scare the guy senseless. He talked.

I happened to know from Lula that Vinnie had promised weeks ago to take the wife and kids to spend this week at the beach with her family, including Vinnie's father-in-law, Harry the Hammer. I'm sure Joyce, who had been known to make Vinnie bark like a trained seal on top of his desk in his inner office, would be as welcome to the picnic as a swarm of angry bees. Actually, I was positive Vinnie's wife, Lucille, would prefer the bees.

"This time, it's till death do us part," I said with an evil smile, making sure Joyce couldn't miss the vengeful inflection in my voice. Joyce would have no problem believing I would marry Dickie and then kill him for the money. That's what Joyce would do.

"Oh no you don't!" she screeched. "That's my money! I earned it! You can't believe what I had to put up with from that, that, self-absorbed dog wart! He never shuts up! I can't believe he talks so much, even in his sleep, yap, yap, yap…and he never says anything important…a Lawyer with nothing important to say…well, go figure." She was ranting and raving as she took off, clicking away down the aisle on her way to head Dickie off at the pass.

Elena and I just smiled at each other as we turned back to the fragrance counter.

"I'm getting this," she said, showing me a bottle of _Philosophy the Fragrance_ shampoo and body wash. The box beneath the glass showed the image of a little girl with short hair playing the piano, with the caption, "_We have captured sunshine in a bottle_". Elena was smiling to herself.

"It suits you," I said, smiling. "You sure played Joyce.

"We played Joyce."

"Yes, we did," I said as we clinked our bottles together in a mock toast.


	24. Chapter 24 Ranger's POV Target Practice

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena created by AutumnDreaming._

I was disappointed with Morelli's story. Kenny Martin hardly seemed capable of laundering his clothes, let alone the funds from a seaboard prostitution op. I suspected he wasn't worried about Terry because he actually thought he was capable of manipulating and using her. But Terry Grizolli Gilman had always struck me as being very enterprising, and I suspected that if Vito had handed operations off to anyone, it was Terry. She had connections, she could be very persuasive, and on a project like this she would be above a certain amount of suspicion simply because she was a woman. I was betting Terry was hoping she could feed the Feds a direct line of misdirection via Morelli.

I had also gleaned some interesting facts from Morelli while I was at his office. I was able to read most of the report he was working on. His computer screen was reflected backwards in the glass of his framed detective's certification that hung on the wall behind his desk. Now I knew that Voran, or at least parts of him, had washed up and that traces of the same Flunitrazepam mix used on the Grizolli's and Jackie were present. The cops had dubbed the mix "Jezebel's Rope".

I stopped at the coroner's office and got my body receipt for Connie, and headed back to Rangeman. I was feeling pretty good about visiting Morelli after that.

Tank and I had arranged for a noon meeting with the Rangeman employees who were working the streets so we could bring everyone up to date. Preliminary contacts had turned up nothing. We needed to dig deeper.

After the meeting broke, Hector and I left to take care of a complaint from a security customer. I was avoiding Steph at this point, hoping that Elena could calm her down. If Steph started in with me, I wasn't sure I would be able to control my temper, and that could be bad. Very bad. I didn't want to go there.

We were wrapping things up, when my cell rang. It was Tank.

"Yo," I answered.

"We have a situation. Elena just got into it with some of the guys. She's back at her station now."

"Anyone hurt?" I asked, but I wasn't serious. I didn't think Elena was actually capable of physical violence. Shooting someone, yes. Hitting someone, probably not.

"Nope."

"What happened?"

"PMS I guess."

"Tank." My voice cautioned him to be careful.

"She was offended comments the men were making...about the missing persons profiles we distributed at the meeting."

"I'm on my way. Don't let her leave." I paused, then asked, "Where's Steph?"

"Upstairs in your apartment."

"Anything I should know about?"

"She brought groceries."

"Understood." I hung up and headed back to Rangeman. I was somewhat relieved. Stephanie was likely to be less volatile if she had Tasty Cakes.

I parked in the garage, sprinted up the stairs to five, and paused inside the door to the control room. Elena appeared to be hard at work. I approached slowly, casually. Just checking in. Elena didn't take her eyes off the computer screen as I entered her work space. She had started doing a background search on a prospective client for our sales department. The paperwork was on the desk right in front of her, but the screen saver had come on. She was intermittently tapping a pen so fast on the desktop that I couldn't even see the cap. She wasn't really looking at the screen. She didn't even see me standing there.

"Problem?" I asked.

She jumped half out of her skin and made to smack me. I pushed her back into her chair. "Cool it," I ordered. She glared at me, but fell back into her chair. She was really angry about something, and it didn't look like PMS to me.

"Want to tell me about it?" I asked, sitting on the edge of her desk.

She glared at her computer screen. "No," she said quite defiantly.

"Guess again." I waited.

She started shaking her head 'no', but it was more of a symptom of her disbelief than of a refusal to talk to me. She was just too angry to talk about it.

"Move," I said, pulling her out of her chair and pushing her ahead of me out of the control room. She crossed her arms in front of her as I marched her down the hall to the stairs.

If she was angry, we might as well make it productive. I took her down to the firing range where she could really vent some aggression, but safely. When we got there, I pulled out my remote and hit the cameras before leading her to the back room. I opened my personal gun safe where I kept some of the nicer pieces I'd collected. The guys didn't need to know what I had in the safe, and the control room didn't need to be watching Elena right now.

"What'll it be?" I asked, giving her an opportunity most men would kill for.

"I don't care," she said through clenched teeth. She was still doing that slow little head shake. Maybe it was disgust. It was hard to tell, but it wasn't good, and it was only a prelude.

"Let's see how much damage you can really do," I said, grabbing my Maadi-Griffin .50 BMG handgun. "This one's got more bang than even Dirty Harry's."

She shook her head "no". "That thing looks ridiculous," she complained. "Can't I just shoot a real gun?"

I smiled. "Tell me how you really feel." Elena could be such a girl sometimes, usually when I least expected it.

"Do we have to do this right now?" she complained.

"Yes, you have to do this, right now." I said, holding up my Colt Python .41 Magnum with a 3" barrel in royal blue for her inspection. It was a one of a kind custom altered job with double action. One of my favorites. "How about this one?" I asked with obvious pride.

"Great." She rolled her eyes at me.

She wasn't in the mood to play. She just wanted to get it over with. She'd appreciate it later, I thought.

Once we were standing in front of the paper targets, she crossed her arms and glared at everything and anything but me. She just wouldn't look at me.

"I probably can't even fire that thing," she complained.

"One way to find out", I said, pulling her in front of the target. She slid her safety glasses on, stuck her earplugs in, and watched as I loaded the cylinder for her. These rounds weren't cheap, but this was going to be fun.

She took the gun in her hand. I could see it was too heavy for her, but she was careful and took it in both hands, holding it out in front of her. I adjusted her stance a little, tapping her feet farther apart with my toe and pushing her elbows till she had it just right. She knew how to shoot, but knowing how and being able to squeeze off a few rounds on a gun that powerful were two different things. She squeezed, but not hard enough. She relaxed and tried again and almost got it. It wasn't an easy trigger.

"You can do it, Sunshine," I told her, putting my hand on her back. She pressed back against my hand a little as she squeezed off the first round. She hit the paper, but completely missed the target. Still, she did better than I expected. She brought her arms down, and I pressed them back up. She aimed and squeezed again, hard, taking a little side step as the gun fired, but this time she hit inside the outline on the target at the hip, though just barely. "Good," I told her.

"That wasn't good," she argued through gritted teeth.

She sucked in a breath, and this time really aimed. She stood firm, and held her stance strong. She tensed and squeezed but not hard enough to fire. She froze there, her hand beginning to shake. Her breathing was becoming more rapid and almost as shaky as her hand. I knew that she wasn't really seeing the target anymore. I reached around her and took the gun from her hand. She was pretty messed up. Maybe shooting wasn't the best idea after all.

"Sunshine," I whispered, seeing she was nearing melt down.

She was trembling all over, but I couldn't see her face to know if it was anger or tears or both. She put her head down as I turned her around and tucked her under my chin. In a moment, I heard her softly sobbing. At least, it sounded soft with my earplugs in.

I was suddenly overcome with a very protective urge, and thought that this must be what being a big brother is supposed to feel like. I had never felt this way about any of my sisters. Of course, Elena had never braided my hair or painted my nails while I was asleep or put fine glitter in my face soap that absolutely would not come off, or tried to toss a cat in the toilet while I was using it. Actually, come to think of it, having four sisters was really great training. They taught me to be a light sleeper, trust no one, always be aware of my surroundings, and to have lightning reflexes. I never had to defend them. I had to defend myself.

I turned sideways in the booth, taking the gun in my right hand, and holding Elena's head against the hollow of my throat with the other, so that we were both looking down range. She pulled her arms in, her fists tight against my ribs as I fired two rounds into the target, head and heart. She shivered uncontrollably and I smiled into her hair. I realized, almost unexpectedly, that I really would kill for her, and more surprisingly, I wanted her to know it. I wanted her to feel that I could protect her. I wanted to bring it into sharp focus, so that it would no longer be an abstract concept in her mind.

Elena's posture was shifting from defiant and defensive to something much softer. I bent down slightly as she pressed her face to my throat. I pulled out one ear plug. "It's okay, Sunshine," I said, feeling my voice vibrate against her tear-stained cheek. I got a little shiver as one of her tears ran past my shirt collar and down my chest. I was reminded of a similar moment – was it such a short time ago? – that we had stood in her kitchen, admitting that we were both lonely, both hurting.

She was taking deep breaths, trying to calm down. She relaxed her clenched fists, placing her palms flat on my back just under my shoulder blades, hugging me...embracing me. She pressed her cheek against chest, below my left shoulder. "Do that again," she whispered, with a pleading in her voice that I wouldn't have thought of refusing. I replaced the ear plug, raised the gun again slowly, bringing both hands up, so that she could feel the power of the gun ripple through my arms and back as I squeezed off the last two rounds one at a time.

I kept her tucked into me as I reloaded. She wasn't crying anymore, but was clinging to me in a desperate way, and I was bombarded by dark thoughts that I had to push away. I would deal with them, but not now. I was allowing nothing to intrude on her trust right now.

Ready?" I asked. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a small sound came out, so she just nodded. When she did, I could feel her ear against my breastbone. She had taken one earplug out and pressed her ear to my heart.

I'd had a lot of women do that – listen to my heart. It was a sentimental thing I didn't care for. But this was different. Elena wasn't listening to the beating of my heart because she loved me or because she wanted to remember me. I sensed she was listening to something _through_ me.

I had become rather callused when it came to dealing with women who had been abused. Working out on the streets and going home with the kind of women that I used to...one sob story sounded very much like another. I had stopped listening. I told myself I had to. I couldn't care about all that and still get my job done. Their intimacy issues weren't my concern either. In the end, I figured they all hated men and that meant they all hated me, in one way or another. And that had made it easier for me.

But Elena didn't hate me. Elena wasn't weak, and she didn't whine or a complain about being hurt. She carried not only her own weight, but had opened her home to help other women who couldn't figure out how to make it on their own. She was a fighter, and I respected that. Her wounds didn't offend me like the other's did.

She hadn't come crying to me about the altercation the took place earlier. I still didn't even know what was wrong. But I sensed even more strongly what I had known from day one - someone had abused her trust, years ago. And whatever happened today had made a fresh wound on top of an old scar.

I fired off two more rounds, one at a time, letting her hear my heart beat kick up just a notch and then slow back down. Then I turned her around, gently but firmly, so her back was to me, and we were facing the range. She put her ear piece back in. I had the gun in my right hand, pointed down range in front of us, waiting for her to get comfortable again. She hugged my inner arm to her cheek, resting her head on my chest and shoulder. Then, as if taking possession of my strength, she ran both hands slowly down my arm till she was holding my gun-hand between both of hers. She steadied herself, planting her feet just inside and in front of mine. I let her feel my fingers squeeze off another two rounds. I absorbed the shock but she could still feel it. I slid the gun back into her hand and helped her steady it while she squeezed off the last two rounds.

"Better?" I asked.

She nodded, still not feeling very talkative.

"More?" I asked. She shook her head no, so I kissed her on the forehead and took the gun and ammo back to the safe. She followed silently, quietly, head down, wiping the last tears away.

"Hungry?" I asked. She shrugged. I sat her down on the worn leather couch. "What happened?"

"Doesn't matter. There's nothing you can do about it."

"You have no idea what I can do," I assured her, although I had just given her a fair idea. I walked over to the desk and hit the intercom on the phone. "Tank, did you load the video to my computer yet?"

Within minutes, I was watching the surveillance recording showing my men reviewing the photos I'd provided them of the women and children reported missing from Trenton, Atlanta, and Miami over the last three months. Presumably the flow was headed to New York, so I didn't include Boston. I had asked them to become familiar with these photos and keep an eye out.

These men were some of the rougher, street-wise employees that I had hired for security work. They weren't hired for their sensitivity, but for their ability to intimidate. They didn't know Elena and they were not the sort of employees I would regularly allow to spend time in the control room. They where only there for the meeting.

The men were sitting and standing around a table in the kitchen. The time counter indicated that this occurred several minutes after our meeting had concluded and after I had left the building with Hector. The men were rating the women and girls on a scale of one to ten as to how "do-able" they were, and discussing what made them "worthy of being kidnapped" and some were even detailing how they would choose to torture them first.

Elena entered the frame, walking to the refrigerator and selecting a bottle of juice. The guys were looking at her, some switching to Spanish, but still laughing and talking dirty. She didn't shy away and she wasn't apparently intimidated. I thought it would have been healthier for her if she had just left. Instead, she eyed them suspiciously, – one of her more frequent expressions - then she walked over to the table and looked down at one of the three ring binders. It was hard to make out the following exchange. I heard Elena say something sarcastic about "gentlemen with such high standards". One of the men said something I couldn't make out. Elena said, "keeping a book like this will help you request them by name next time you visit the local whore house, since you apparently have no intention of preventing these women and children from ending up there." Then a lot of arguing and name-calling ensued. Elena said, "Isn't that your job? If it isn't, I don't know what you're doing here." The words "self-righteous bitch" rang out and one of the new guys ended up wearing the juice before Elena stormed out. I could see Tank's shadow against the refrigerator door, so I assumed that it was his presence more than anything else that ended the argument.

I turned off the file and the computer monitor and looked over at Elena. She had pulled up her feet and had her arms crossed defensively again. I got up and rolled the computer chair over to the couch. Still standing, I pulled her up off the couch so that she had to put her feet down, then I sat her back down on the seat again. I pulled her arms apart. When I let go, she immediately crossed them again and looked away defiantly. I pulled them away again as I sat down in the computer chair, holding her hands down at her sides and making her look at me.

"Elena," I said softly but firmly, so she would know I was taking this seriously but that I wasn't angry with her. "I wish you never had to hear things like that. I wish that I could change the world, but you're right. There isn't much I can do. I can outline rules of conduct, but it won't change how those guys feel or what they say when they are in a group, shooting off their mouths. You're smart enough to know that."

She nodded sadly.

"I can't change the world," I said, stroking her hair like I would Julie's. "I can only stem the tide."

"That is saving the world," she whispered, still looking down at her shoes. "You're saving all those little worlds," she said, her voice small. "You'll never know what crimes were prevented each night one of those skips spends in jail. You'll never know."

"I wish I had been in time to save your world," I whispered, leaning forward and resting my head on her shoulder. We were ear to ear, resting against each other, eyes closed.

She just barely shrugged. "I could have been one of the girls in those pictures." Her breath caught.

"I _do_ know you, Sunshine," I said, "and you're not like those girls." I looked her squarely in the eye. "You're so strong, Elena."

"Those men aren't going to help us find those girls, Ranger." I paused when I realized she has said "us" and not "you". She had made up her mind to help me with this case, and I was hesitant that this was the same road I had traveled with Steph, the road that kept putting her life in danger.

"I'm going to do my best to find out who is running this operation and help the Feds shut it down, but it's not going to make the problem go away. You know that." She swallowed, nodded.

"Stephanie's upstairs," she said.

"I know," I told her, not sure I should let her change the subject on me. "She's not going anywhere."

"I know you want to see her," she said, trying to sound sensitive in her attempt to end our conversation.

"Are you trying to get rid of me?" I asked, still serious.

"Yes," she answered back sharply, seeing that I wasn't as eager to go upstairs as she'd hoped.

I put my elbows on my knees and held my head in my hands, "God. I just can't believe she came back here still wearing that damn ring on her finger." I couldn't hold my disappointment any longer. It came rushing out.

"Why not?" she fired back, though still speaking with an undercurrent of melancholy. "You're the one who trained her."

"What?" I was startled by her accusatory tone. I had been looking for sympathy. I thought we were still having an intimate moment and I expected more kindness and understanding in return. I wasn't getting it.

"You showed Steph that you didn't care if she was with you _and_ Morelli. You told her you would take whatever she wanted to give. I believe 'no emotional cost' was your idea."

I groaned. "Not that again."

"You're an idiot," she told me.

I was annoyed, but I couldn't argue. I nodded slightly, looking up at her watery eyes. "You're probably right."

"What are you going to do about it?" she asked.

"I'm going to ask you for a favor," I said, trying to give her one of my more charming smiles, but it wasn't necessary.

_To be continued…_


	25. Chapter 25 Steph's POV Ranger Returns

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena created by AutumnDreaming._

I was trying to bury five Tasty Cake wrappers in the trash can under an empty carton of skim milk when I heard the door to Ranger's apartment open. I heard the clank of keys hitting the silver tray on the sideboard by the door. Seconds later, Ranger appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. He was wearing his usual SWAT black cargo pants and a tight, black T-shirt. He had a Glock at the small of his back. I knew he had another gun on his ankle and a big knife on him somewhere. He always did. His mid-length straight black hair was a mess of perfection and the dark shadow hiding his classic Latino eyes was only deepened by the 5:00 shadow along his upper lip and chin. I sucked in a breath at the sight of him. He wasn't smiling. I suddenly wasn't feeling quite so brave.

"Hi," I said, trying to sound chipper.

"I'm a bastard?" he asked, reminding me exactly where we had left off.

"Oh, that," I said, waiving it away with my hand. "I was angry with you for not telling me about Morelli and Terry. I saw the pictures." He knew I was a notorious snoop, so this came as no surprise.

"Sit," he ordered, pointing to the dining room table.

I tiptoed around the table and sat down on the edge of my seat. Ranger pulled his chair out smartly, and slouched into it, assuming a calm and relaxed manner that didn't match the atmosphere around him. He was making me very nervous.

"There's still a ring on your finger, Babe." His finger made a quick flick towards my ring.

"I don't think I'm going to be marrying Morelli," I said, twisting the ring on my finger, wishing that there was some way to turn back time and correct a lot of mistakes.

"I talked to Morelli," he told me.

"I probably don't want to know what he said." I looked up at him. "Morelli thinks I'm a fool."

"You are a fool," he agreed.

"What? Why?" I stammered.

Ranger leaned forward over the table, looking very seriously into my eyes, his own dark and dangerous. "You're a fool…if you think for one second that I _ever_ told you to marry Morelli," he said in a deep, breathy whisper.

Gulp. "But, when I told you we were engaged…"

"Babe, you were already engaged." Ranger leaned back into his chair again. "I told you I wasn't ready for a relationship. I admit that. I gave you no reason to hope that you and I could get serious any time soon."

"Has that changed?" I asked, seeing a glimmer of hope for the first time.

Ranger shrugged. "Maybe." His eyes were smoldering with that familiar desire, but he was definitely holding it in check. "Depends," he said, sounding much more like his usual flirty self.

"Depends on what?" I asked, being my usual cautious self.

"You gonna take that ring off your finger?"

I looked at the diamond sparkling on my finger one last time, and slipped it off.

"I don't think I can stand to look at him right now," I groaned. "How am I going to give it back?"

"It doesn't have to be tonight, Babe." His voice had softened considerably, as if a wall had just come down. "The right time will present itself. Just keep it handy so you'll have it when the time comes."

I nodded, slipping the ring into my jeans pocket. I felt naked and unattached suddenly. It's strange the power a little thing like a diamond ring can have on a girl's emotions.

"So, now have things changed?" I asked.

A very small smile played at the corner of Ranger's mouth. "Maybe," he teased.

"So, now what?" I asked, afraid to know what he was going to suggest next.

"I understand you need a job," he said. "You're not going back to Vinnie, are you?"

"I think that might be out of the question after today," I said, shrinking a little in my seat.

"What happened today?" he asked. His lip twitched, as if preparing to smile.

"It wasn't my fault!" I told him. "Elena and I sort of had a run-in with Joyce Barnhardt at the mall."

"And?"

"And, we might have possibly sent her to Vinnie's beach house."

"Why would she go to Vinnie's beach house?" Ranger asked, the smile still hovering close by.

"Somehow she was under the impression that I was eloping with Dickie and his $40 million this afternoon." I tried my best to look innocent, but it was no use.

"Harry the Hammer's going to be there," Ranger said, the plot playing out in his mind as I watched. The smile appeared, slowly at first. Then it widened and finally burst into a full-on smile. "You and Elena sent Joyce to Vinnie's beach house while he was entertaining Harry the Hammer and his entire family?"

"Possibly. I mean, we don't really know if she went…"

"Oh, she went all right," Ranger said.

"But she would have been looking for Dickie, not Vinnie," I said, trying to convince myself more than Ranger.

"Yeah, like Lucille is gonna believe that," Ranger laughed. "Poor Vinnie. He never even know what hit him."

"That would be Harry the Hammer." I groaned.

"You're right, I don't think you're going to be going back to work for Vinnie."

"You think?" I grimaced.

"I'm thinking you might just have gotten even for everything he's ever done, including the duck."

"Well, maybe not the duck," I said. That was pushing it.

"You want to work this case with us?" he asked.

"What case with who?" I asked.

"Elena didn't tell you about the case Morelli is working on?" he asked.

"We didn't talk about work. We had fries and went shopping," I said. "You know, girl stuff."

"Female bonding?" Ranger asked.

"Yes." I smiled. "So, when you say 'us', is that you and Elena, or you and Morelli?

"You and me and Elena and whoever else we need. If it needs to include Morelli, I will handle Morelli," Ranger assured me.

"What would I be doing?" I asked.

"I need you and Elena to check in with some of the local homeless and female prostitutes. See if you can come up with any leads. Maybe you want take Lula with you. She knows a lot of people around Stark. Elena has been working with local charitable organizations. She has contacts and knows the system these people are operating in."

"Oh." I guessed Ranger had good reason to hire Elena, which made me both relieved and, at the same time, a little more jealous. I was afraid she might be a more valuable employee that I usually was. Then again, who wasn't?

"I assume you were hoping to stay here until you could find another apartment," he said.

I had let my apartment go as an act of good faith when I finally agreed to marry Morelli. I was under pressure from both Morelli and my mom. I really wished I had my apartment back, but then again, it was full of memories, most quite frightening. Only a few worth re-living. Maybe it was best that I start fresh with a new place.

"I had planned to stay here, if you don't mind," I said. "I'm sorry I didn't even ask you before I moved in."

"You're always welcome here, Babe. I just wasn't expecting you while you were still engaged."

"Maybe I should stay in one of the 4th floor apartments," I suggested. I didn't want to be invading Ranger's personal space.

"They're all occupied," he told me.

"I guess I could stay with my parents," I said, cringing at the thought of the early morning racket that always ensued as Grandma Mazur and my dad fought over the bathroom. I would have to eat breakfast while watching my mother pretend not to be tippling from the bottle in the cabinet. Then she would iron every piece of clothing I owned.

"Maybe you could stay with a friend instead," Ranger suggested.

"I'm sorry, but there is no way I could possibly live with Lula," I spluttered.

"I was thinking of someone else."

"Who?" Who was he thinking of? Connie? Sally? Jean Ellen? Oh, please no.

Ranger paused a beat, and then laid it on me. "I thought you might ask Elena."

"Elena?" I wrinkled my brow. "I just met her today!"

"You met her over a week ago."

"Well, that didn't count."

"Sure it did." He tipped his head to the side. "You like her, don't you?"

"Sure, I like her," I said.

"She helped you put one over on Joyce, didn't she?" He had a point there.

"But, surely, she doesn't want a roommate," I said. "And what about Rex? Does she like hamsters?"

"I'm sure her cat likes hamsters," he said with an evil little grin.

"See, it won't work out," I said.

"You'll work it out," he said firmly.

"I gather you've already asked her." I felt the rope to my lifeline tightening, but I wasn't sure if it was strangling me, or if Ranger was just pulling me to safety.

"Elena has a two bedroom house on a nice quiet street in Mt. Holly. I would feel a lot better if you stayed there. No one knows you there. No one is going to be looking for you there. And it would only be a matter of time before you would start going stir crazy if you stayed here." He had made another good point.

"Okay, let's say I stay with Elena until I can get an apartment…"

"Let's say you stay with Elena, and you don't worry about finding an apartment," he suggested. "You have a place to live, and you have a job working for me. All you need now is a car. The keys to a new Infinity G Coupe are on the sideboard. You can take it anytime you need it. Or, you can ride back and forth with Elena if you want."

I hesitated. "Ranger, is there another reason you don't want me to stay here?" I asked. He'd never tried to get rid of me before.

"Not the reason you think." He said, rising from his chair and pulling me out of mine.

"Then what reason?" I asked. His arms were closing around me and I felt heat radiating from his T-shirt. Oh boy. Now I remembered why.

"Just because I haven't had a life to offer you in the past doesn't mean that I don't want one."

"Good to know," I said, my knees nearly giving out beneath me.

"Steph, I never really told you who I was because you thought I was your own personal superhero, and I didn't want to ruin the fantasy for you. In a lot of ways, even I didn't remember who I was most of the time?"

I looked up at him, plainly a little dazed and confused.

"What I do know is that I need to be more than my job. I like who I am when I'm with you, when I see myself through your eyes. I love you, Babe," he said, letting his lips brush mine and sending a tingle all the way to my toes. "I never want to lose you again."

"Not a problem," I said, swallowing hard.

"Good," he said, and then he deepened the kiss. My fingers curled into his shirt as my temperature rose.

Oh boy.

_To be continued..._


	26. Chapter 26 Steph's POV Steph's Lead

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena created by AutumnDreaming._

Elena had been waiting downstairs for me to call her with the verdict. She seemed glad I was going to stay with her. Ranger seemed relieved that neither of us would be living alone anymore.

Elena came up on the elevator and helped me with my re-packing. It felt like we were old friends. Ranger seemed quite surprised, but he didn't stick around. I think Ranger just hoped it would be good enough to last.

Before we left, Ranger and I discussed another important matter; Jackie's funeral arrangements still needed to be handled. Lula had filled out the necessary paperwork to claim the body, but she had to wait until Jackie's family had been properly notified. Lula didn't expect them to come for her. There had been a falling out, obviously, over Jackie's chosen lifestyle as a hooker and drug addict. If they did not claim the body, then Lula was going to make the arrangements.

Lula didn't know what it would cost or how to go about doing any of that. So she'd called me, because I had extensive experience with funeral homes, if being held hostage in the basement cooler, locked in a casket by a deranged mortician, attending countless viewings in order to keep her Grandma Mazur from prying the lid off to inspect the deceased, and finally burning down Stiva's Funeral Home - the pride of the Burg seniors - could be considered experience.

Tank and Ranger had already discussed it. They knew Lula and I couldn't afford funeral expenses. We probably couldn't even finance it. Lula was a file clerk for Vinnie at the bonds office, and I hadn't been working for some time. Elena didn't even know Jackie. Ranger didn't think we should be worried about it anyway. But Lula wasn't going to let Jackie be placed in the ground at the discretion of the local authorities.

Lula wanted was a big funeral with lots of people, real flowers and a seasoned minister preaching it to the rafters. She would settle for nothing less that a fine looking coffin and vault in a peaceful cemetery where loved ones could visit and feel welcome. She wanted the whole shebang. You would have thought it was a wedding rather than a funeral the way Lula went on about it.

So, Ranger put us in charge of making the funeral arrangements. Tank and Ranger were picking up the tab personally. I wasn't sure that it was good business if word got out, but it made Lula happy, and that made Tank happy, and Ranger said he owed Tank too many favors to say no.

* * *

Elena's Mustang was no school bus, so I took what I thought I would need for the next few days and left the rest for future trips. Mt. Holly was about thirty minutes away, if there was no traffic. It was clear sailing by the time we got on the road. Her house was plain, and Ranger was right. No one would be looking for me here. Inside the house was spacious yet cozy and already nicely decorated.

I had never gotten around to decorating my apartment, which had last been decorated when disco ruled. That is to say the first time disco ruled, not the last time disco ruled. And some things, like my orange and brown bathroom, had never and would never come back into fashion again.

My biggest concern was for Rex. Elena had me put his cage on top of an antique radio cabinet. Apparently the cat enjoyed sleeping in the bottom of the cabinet, which had a loose back panel. Leaving Rex alone with a cat who liked to crawl into small spaces didn't seem like a good plan to me. As it turned out, however, Thomas A. Cat had been fixed before he'd known what he'd lost. He was a big, black and gray striped cat with short hair and a long tail. He was fat, dumb, and happy, and he really couldn't have cared less about Rex. He laid, stretched out on his back, shedding on an area rug, watching upside down as Rex ran on his wheel. He seemed to be thinking, "better you than me". You never see a cat running on an exercise wheel…or exercising at all for that matter.

Elena and Thomas had turned in for the night. And, having settled in what few personal effects I had brought, Rex and I finally got a good night's sleep.

We were all up bright and early the next morning, ready to start working on the Jezebel's Rope case. Elena filled me in over coffee and Tasty Cakes.

We decided to dress incognito and work the streets for leads like Ranger had suggested. We were wearing old jeans, faded t-shirts and sneakers. We put our hair up in ponytails, and I thought we were ready to go. I was looking somewhat grungy than I liked. Elena, on the other hand, thought we weren't ready for our public appearance. She took a blackberry and squished it into her teeth, discoloring them a little and getting black pieces stuck between her teeth so it looked like she was suffering from some painful dental issues. She expected me to do the same.

"It helps people loosen up if you look like one of them and not like a social worker, bounty hunter, or a narc," she said.

"I need to have ick in my teeth why?" I asked, popping two blackberries into my mouth.

"It won't hurt you," she chided. "We all make snap judgments. So do they. We don't have time to develop relationships. We need these people to immediately accept us as being on their side…as being have-nots, if we want them to talk to us about drugs and prostitution."

Elena pulled a small cactus off the windowsill above the sink and scratched her fingernails into the dirt in the container and passed it over to me. "Get it under your nails," she said.

"I can't believe we're doing this," I groaned.

"Do you want to help with this investigation or not?" she asked testily.

"Yes, but I know a better place to start," I said.

"Where's that?" She asked, curious.

"Dougie and Mooner's."

* * *

I had known Dougie and Mooner since high school. They were now 30-year-old adolescents who sat around watching Scooby Doo while trying to sell stuff they rescued from the Trenton landfill on E-bay.

When I knocked, Mooner opened the door, and it took a minute for him to recognize me. "Oh, man," he said, wavering in the doorway like seaweed in the throws of the ocean, "I thought you were the Avon lady or something."

"These are friends of yours?" Elena asked, giving me a look.

"Yep," I admitted with a shrug.

If she couldn't tell the reason for Mooner's aversion to gravity, it became clear once we stepped inside. The stench of pot was overwhelming.

"Yo, dude!" Dougie said, looking up from his hot pocket. He just got it out of the microwave and was struggling to get it out of the little cooking packet without burning himself. This effort was requiring most of his attention.

"Hi, guys. This is my new roommate, Elena." She gave a little finger wave.

Mooner just looked at her, his eyes glazed over. "Woah. New roommate." Then he finally snapped out of it, sliding down onto the couch in front of the television. "That's cool, man."

Dougie finally had his hot pocket free and took a bite, burning his mouth but continuing to chew and swallow. "Hungry?" I asked.

"I'm starving," Dougie complained. Naturally.

"The reason I stopped by was to ask if you guys had heard anything about a drug called a roofie or Flunitrazepam being passed around on the streets lately."

Dougie and Mooner looked at each other, then back to me. "Flunny-what-cha-call-it?"

"The cops are calling it Jezebel's Rope," I said, hoping that might ring a bell.

"What's it for?" Mooner asked.

"It's a very powerful muscle relaxer, and it makes you feel like you're really drunk. You probably won't remember a thing after you've taken it."

"No wonder we don't remember trying it," Mooner said. "Did we enjoy it?" he asked.

"How would I know?" I wanted to scream. I was getting impatient.

Dougie had a frozen bottle of Gatorade. He was trying to get a drink from it to cool his burning tongue. He was sticking his tongue inside the bottle, licking the ice, and getting his tongue stuck, then waggling the bottle back and forth.

"What are you doing?" I asked him. I felt like I was baby-sitting every time I came over here.

"Gegging a thrink," he mumbled with his tongue still stuck inside the bottle.

"Hey, Dougie," Elena said. "Is that Hot Pocket still warm?"

"Duh. How wu ink I wurned my yung," he said, hardly understandable.

"Was that Hot Pocket frozen a minute ago?" she asked.

"Duh," he said.

"So, how did it get hot?" she asked, as if genuinely interested.

Dougie pulled his tongue free. "With the microwave, Dude," he told her, pointing over his head to a big black microwave on the kitchen counter that never once been cleaned since the day they got it, and that had been years ago.

"Uh-huh." Elena looked over at me again like I had to be nuts. "So, the microwave can be used to thaw out things that are frozen, right?"

"That's what it's for," Dougie said, shooting me a look that said, _Elena is a dim bulb_.

"So, maybe you could put the Gatorade bottle in the microwave just long enough to melt it a little, so you can get a drink. What do you think?" Elena suggested, looking doubtful.

"Hey, yeah, Dougie mused, finally catching on.

"She's a genius," Mooner said, giving Elena a more appraising look.

"Seriously, Mooner. I need you to focus," I said, snapping my fingers to get his attention. "I need to you think. Have you seen any activity in the last three months that you haven't seen before. Has there been a new dealer in town? Have there been any new drugs being passed around?"

"Well, yeah, I guess there was that one guy. Dougie and me saw him at the Wacky Weed the other day giving out freebies. Do we still have some?" he asked Dougie.

"Do we have some what?" Dougie asked.

"Those 'Hypno-Hits' we got from that guy the other day…you know, the ladies man."

"Ladies man?" I asked.

"Yeah, he was giving away twice as much to the ladies, so we got dressed up like chicks and tried to go back to get some more, but he was gone by time we got there because Dougie didn't think his hair looked good enough." Mooner rolled his eyes.

There was a loud BANG! We all hit the floor.

"Now I remember why I don't microwave frozen Gatorade. It blows up!"

"Did you take the cap off?" Elena asked in utter disbelief.

"If I did that, it would get all over the inside of the microwave," he said with a knowing air of superiority.

"I give up," she said, exasperated.

"Mooner, find me those drugs!" I yelled.

"Man, don't get hostile. I didn't know you were into that stuff. All you had to do was say so," Mooner said, easing himself to a standing position and, getting his sea legs under him, he trudged up the stairs to the bathroom.

He came back down with a little baggie with a white powdery substance in it.

"Don't get any more prints on it," Elena said, taking a pair of disposable rubber gloves out of her pocket.

"Gloves? Why don't I have gloves?"

Elena just looked at me. "I brought them in case we needed to pick through any trash or administer first aid," she said, taking the baggie from Mooner.

She pulled out her cell phone and called Ranger. "Steph just got us our first lead," she said, giving me a little wink.

_To be continued..._


	27. Chapter 27 Ranger's POV Elena's Secret

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena created by AutumnDreaming._

_Ranger's POV_

I was sitting in my office, grinding through the morning paperwork when a little beep sounded from my gun belt. My stun gun was registering low battery, which was strange. I hadn't stunned anyone since Jean Ellen, and I was sure I had charged it back up. I pulled it loose from my belt and plugged it into the wall charger.

An hour later I was watching the video of Elena's altercation with my security team again. I had it looped. I was trying to put some of the pieces together. What was driving Elena to challenge a bunch of gorillas like that? She was smart, and she usually knew how to handle herself, but she had clearly lost it. She was getting along with the guys in the control room, but I wouldn't say she was friendly with them. I was looking for a very personal reason for her behavior.

I was weighing my options. I wasn't comfortable letting this go without addressing it with my men, but how would I handle Elena? I couldn't let this happen again.

My phone rang. It was Elena calling in Steph's lead.

I loaded my gun belt back up and took the Cayenne to meet Steph and Elena at Dougie's house to pick up the baggie. Steph had already grilled Dougie and Mooner about their "ladies man". I knew him. At least, he fit the description of one of Rufus Caine's goons who would be recently out of work and looking for a new employer.

"Can you get a print off this?" Steph asked as I took the baggie from Elena, wrapping it in one of her disposable gloves.

"Rangeman is not equipped to do fingerprint analysis. We just don't have enough need of it to justify the cost. Usually I can get the cops or the Feds to do it for me. I can lift a print, but I think I'll just take this to the cops."

"Morelli?" Steph asked, biting her lower lip.

"I told you before, I'll handle Morelli."

A thought occurred to me as I drove away. I pulled out my cell and dialed Tank. "Get two teams on Jerome the Gnome, and tell them to stay out of sight. Don't do anything, and don't lose him."

I was expecting that once I took this info to Morelli, Jerome would be making a quick departure from the planet. I wanted to wait until we had him in sight to make my visit to Morelli.

I stopped off at Rangeman and picked up Tank. We took my truck to visit a few of the dealers who used to be supplied by Rufus to make inquiries about their latest business arrangements. I was having a hard time finding them at the usual places. Three known drug houses were empty or being run by lower rung gang members who probably moved in when the big guys vacated. Tank got on the phone a called a few former gang members to see if they had any leads. Nothing good turned up.

Something was off. Where were Rufus' men? I decided to check out the morgue. And to get a free pass, I was going to need Morelli.

I dropped Tank off at Rangeman and called Morelli, asking him to meet me in the freezer section. When Morelli arrived, he didn't ask what we were looking for. He already knew. We opened one drawer after another, searching for familiar faces. We found three male street dealers, one middleman, and two more prostitutes, in addition to Jackie who was still chillin'.

"The streets have been busy this week," he said.

"No shit."

"You got something for me?" he asked.

I pulled out the glove with the sample in it. "See if you can get a print off of this." I explained about Mooner and Dougie's lead, making sure Morelli knew that Steph was the one who got the credit for bringing it to us. He nodded, and promised to call me if he could ID the print. I didn't name Jerome. If Morelli recognized him from the description, he kept it to himself.

Morelli's pager went off. He called in on his cell. His face went blank, then white, and finally he turned a little green. He turned away and walked to a corner to talk in private, asking a few questions, and doing a fair amount of creative cursing. He wasn't happy. He has an angry red face on when he marched back to me.

"Bad news?" I asked when he returned.

"Just about the worst. Dead child." He rubbed his face with both hands. Probably changing colors that many times in three minutes was irritating to the skin.

"And they're calling you in?" I asked. Morelli was homicide.

"The body was just found in a trash dumpster downtown. I guess it's pretty gruesome. They're waiting for me on scene. I have to go."

I nodded, and we parted without another word.

Morelli was one of the few men I knew who could handle the daily stress of being a homicide detective. It was a job that needed to be done, and he wasn't paid nearly enough for doing it. I chose to cut him some slack most of the time when our paths crossed. In the end, we worked well together, and we respected each other professionally, if not personally.

I was just driving away when my cell buzzed. It was Tank.

"The Gnome has been removed."

"When?" I asked.

"Three minutes ago. It was professional."

"Understood." I shut my phone and did a U-turn and headed back to Rangeman.

Morelli hadn't had time to tell Terry. So much for smoking her out.

I dialed Steph. "Something's come up. I need you and Elena to get back to the office."

"Right now?" she asked.

"Now." I said, my demanding tone indicating urgency. I disconnected.

* * *

Late that afternoon, the girls were working on some of my skips in Elena's office. I was watching them from the control room when my cell rang again. It was Morelli.

"We have a connection. The print was Jerome Figurole's, and he's currently on my client list. Just looked him over an hour ago. One bullet to the head from a high power rifle. He was shot from a distance. No witnesses on the shooter." I didn't offer any.

"The powder?" I asked.

"Same stuff."

"Anything else?"

Morelli paused. I could hear him swallow and try to quietly clear his throat. "The kid tested positive too."

"The kid in the dumpster?" I asked, making sure I understood him correctly.

"Yeah." Morelli had a real soft spot for kids. He didn't have any yet, but he was a family guy.

"And?"

"You don't want to know."

"Did you get an ID yet?"

"Not yet. Black girl, about six years old, hair about six inches long divided into three ponytails with those rubber bands with the big balls on them, two green, one hot pink."

"Clothing?" I asked, writing down the description on a pad on my desk.

"None," Morelli answered, a hard edge to his voice suddenly. "That's all I've got." He was done sharing.

"I'll let you know if I hear anything." I disconnected.

I called to Tank and we joined the girls in the corner. We all sat at the big table and I brought them up to speed.

"I don't want you girls going out there alone. Things are too volatile right now, and these are not low-level gangs and dealers we're looking for. These guys made a professional hit the moment we whispered Jerome's name. Above all, I want you to be safe."

I expected Steph to argue. Instead, she was looking stunned and just nodded in agreement. Elena looked calm but rather sickened. Understandable.

Tank and I went back to my office to discuss our next step. We had barely sat down, when Steph came rushing in.

"Ranger! Something's wrong with Elena," she told me, looking panicked. "She just took off on foot. She wouldn't answer me. I don't know what happened. You just said you don't want us out there alone. Should I follow her?"

"No," I told her, grabbing my gun belt and heading after her. I tore down the stairs, out the garage. My phone buzzed. "Where?" Tank gave me directions. There was a GPS tracking signal coming from her cell phone being monitored in the control room. I caught up with her after three blocks. I just let her go, watching her walk. Her steps were angry and determined.

We had been walking for miles when Elena disappeared into the New Jersey State Museum. I had been following at a distance, so I called Tank to have him tell me if she left, and told him not to call me for any other reason.

I walked slowly around the perimeter, not seeing her. I checked with the desk to see what exhibitions might attract her, but I didn't come up with any ideas, so I started a systematic search. She was upset, and would probably want to hide out. I looked for someplace dark. There was a cave exhibit, but I didn't find her there. I finally caught sight of her in the prehistoric area. She was in a darkened area made to simulate being deep under the sea, dimly lit with green-blue tract lights providing dramatic effect. She was staring into an enormous glass case containing the blackened skeleton of a pliosaur; a prehistoric sea monster with a long pair of jaws lined with teeth. She was looking at the skull, staring into the empty eye sockets.

I watched her long enough to be sure she wasn't looking at the bones any more, just like she hadn't been looking at the target when we were shooting. She was lost in thought, somewhere else. I came up to her slowly, letting her sense that I was there behind her.

"Sunshine," I said quietly.

Her voice was breaking as she spoke, just a little louder than a whisper. "I used to look at these monsters," she shook her head, unable to go on. "I thought there couldn't be a God. God couldn't make something this terrible. If there was a God, he must have made good and evil. I didn't really know him. I didn't understand. But now I do. God isn't evil, and he didn't create evil. But he created every living thing. He created this monster. It isn't evil. It does what it was created to do. It has a purpose. For this creature to serve his purpose isn't evil." She paused. "Look at it," she whispered. "This thing appears to be malevolent, even in death," she said, tapping the glass. "Look," she said. "Look at it."

I nodded. She saw my reflection in the glass.

"But now…now I understand." She placed her hand on the glass as if she would touch that ugly thing if she could. "We're always being told that God is love, God is good, Jesus came to save us all, that none should perish…'no, not one'. But, there will be those who perish. They will perish because they deserve to perish. And there will be a lot of them. Hell will be filled with them," she spat through clenched teeth.

"Sunshine?" I said, growing more concerned as her voice took on a stronger, angrier tone.

"They forget to tell you what it means that God is just. God is a wrathful, jealous, vengeful God. That does not mean that God is evil. But that he's going to punish those men." She swallowed hard. "I don't have to worry about that." She tapped the glass again and looked over her shoulder at me. "'Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord,' and that is his promise," she said, indicating the monstrous form behind the glass.

A man visiting with his son gave us a long look. He seemed to understand that we needed a few minutes because Elena had just gone nuts. He took his son by the hand and lead him down the ramp to the next exhibit.

I reached out to touch her, but she held both hands up and turned her head away from me, not wanting to be touched.

"I need an explanation, Sunshine," I said, still standing close.

She gave one last look at the hulking skull behind the glass, and walked slowly down the dark ramp into the depths of the exhibit to a bench in the corner. A cast re-creation of another sea monster seemed poised to swallow us in two painful, bloody bites as we sat down. It gave me the creeps.

Elena sucked in a shuttering breath. She pulled her legs up and crossed her arms, but I just let her be this time.

"I was married before," she said.

"I know," I told her.

"He was very jealous and always suspicious of me. He had no reason to be. But he didn't want me working. If I didn't work, he didn't get all the bills paid. I couldn't depend on him. It wasn't a good marriage.

"So, I took a job at a factory doing piece work, even though he didn't like it. I sat on an assembly line. It was boring, but easy work. We spent all day talking to the person sitting next to us. I thought I was really lucky, because this handsome guy was next to me. We'd been working together for about four months, and knew everything about each other by that time. I liked going to work. I liked it better than being home. He made me feel good about myself. We ate together everyday, and he would bring me a soda or coffee when he got himself one, things like that.

"One day, I'd been upset because I'd had a big fight with my husband. My neighbor invited me to go to the store with her and her kids. I didn't have anything better to do, so I went." She shook her head like it had been really stupid of her. "I called my husband and left a message on his phone so he knew where I was or he'd go crazy. When I got home, he was waiting, and he was angry.

"He made me go get the shopping receipt from my friend to prove that we went to the store like I said. He wanted to see the time and date printed on the receipt, because he thought I might have been seeing someone else and using her to cover for me."

"Guys that act like that are usually the ones doing the cheating," I told her.

"I know that now. I didn't see it then. I didn't want to see it."

I wanted to hold her, but she wouldn't let me. She pushed me away again.

"I was upset when I got to work, and was about to cry. I couldn't help it. I went to the back, where the bathrooms and break room were, even though it wasn't break time and we weren't allowed. My friend came back after me and said a couple of people were covering for us on the line." Tears rolled down her cheeks suddenly, and she was turning red. "He was comforting me, and then…he changed all of a sudden. I didn't know what was happening until it was too late. He wasn't my friend," she choked, shaking her head in disbelief again. "He wasn't a friend." She gave the same nervous head shake I'd seen after the incident at Rangeman. "It had all been a lie. Why didn't I see it?"

She took a shuddering breath. "He said he knew I couldn't tell my husband, because he'd never believe me, and we had been seen together for four months. No one at work would believe me either," she squeaked, burying her face in her hands.

I put my hand on her back between her shoulders and refused to remove it when she tried to turn away.

"I just went back to the line. I couldn't believe it. I just sat there, putting parts together, so numb, not even thinking. I don't know how I sat there. How could I have put the pieces together?" She stopped to catch her breath, somewhere between sobbing and becoming calm.

"You were in shock," I told her.

She nodded. "I went home, like nothing happened. I couldn't tell my husband. There was no way I could tell him. He would never believe me. My marriage would be over. And I didn't want it to be over. I loved him. I tried so hard to love him." She took another breath and paused for a beat.

"By the time I woke up the next day, I'd convinced myself it had been some kind of misunderstanding, some kind of mistake. I went to work, but we didn't speak, just sat there together. He brought me a coke, just like always, and I drank it. We ate together, just like always. I thought maybe I'd imagined it. I couldn't figure it out.

"Then, a few days later, he and another guy grabbed me when I went to the bathroom, and they pulled me into a back room." Her voice broke again. "It wasn't a misunderstanding, Ranger."

"Sunshine," I whispered.

"This time he said I couldn't tell because I hadn't told the first time, and no one would believe me now. And he was right." She was past crying now and heading into angry. "I got my things and went home. I didn't tell anyone. I said I hated working there, the boss was a jerk, and my husband hadn't wanted me working anyway. So, I stayed home, the bills didn't get paid, and things just got worse and worse. Eventually, my husband left me."

"That wasn't your fault," I said. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Oh, yes I did, Ranger. I was so selfish, and stupid. But mostly, I was selfish. I wanted to keep my husband more than I wanted to stop that man. I let him go. I let him get away with it, when I could have done something to stop him."

"You did what you thought was the best thing for you and your husband at the time," I assured her. "You're a good person, Elena. They took advantage of that goodness."

She was shaking her head, now angry with herself. The self-loathing was hardest for me to watch.

"About a year later, I saw him again. He was on the front page of the paper. He and another guy, not the guy from work but another guy, had tortured and killed a little girl." She broke. "You should have seen that little girl. Stacy. She was so beautiful," she cried. "And it was my fault," she insisted.

"No, it was his fault, Elena. No one else was responsible for his actions. Especially not you."

"What if I could have stopped him?" she cried. "They tortured that little girl."

I couldn't take it anymore. I turned her to me and pulled her in close. She didn't put her arms around me, but she didn't try to get away either. She was tense all over, her body stiff against me, her arms wrapped around her knees, but I held her anyway, trying to rock her back and forth a little, stroking her hair.

"God's going to make those men pay for what they did to me, for what they did to Stacy. I know it's wrong to want that. It's wrong. I try to pray for them. I try to forgive them. But they're not sorry. They're not sorry!"

I just held her tight. I didn't have adequate words, and I knew she'd already been down every road of thought a million times before. I wouldn't find anything new to add.

"I want to help you, Ranger. I don't ever want to let those men go again. I want to find them this time. I want to help you bring them in."

"We'll get them, Sunshine," I promised. "You and me."

_To be continued..._


	28. Chapter 28 Ranger's POV Charlie

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena created by AutumnDreaming and Charlie, created by Charles Martin in the novel "When Crickets Cry"._

Elena and I sat in the dark bowels of the museum for a long time before she finally relaxed. I always appreciated just sitting with Elena and not having to talk. But, I had questions, and I wanted answers.

"You really believe in God?" I asked. She nodded against my shoulder. I knew she did. She went to a Protestant church in Mt. Holly every Sunday, and sometimes more often than that.

"My grandmother was disappointed that religion didn't stick with me."

"You believe in God, don't you?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.

"There are no atheists in foxholes, Sunshine," I assured her, giving her a little squeeze.

"Were you Catholic?" she asked.

"Yes, but I hated going to church and I never went through confirmation. She was really on my case about it."

"Your Grandmother loved you."

"Seriously, could you see me as an altar boy?" I asked. Elena snickered. "Yeah," I agreed as I smiled into her hair.

"Ranger, were you ever angry with God? I mean, really angry?" she asked, quite serious. It sounded a little more like a confession of her own than a question about _my_ childhood. But, I played along.

"I guess I didn't think about God much until I was in some kind of trouble. You know, just when I was really scared."

"When were you ever scared?" she asked, sounding surprised.

"When we were kids in Newark, we had to walk through some rough neighborhoods to get to and from school. I was scared to go out the door in the morning. But God help us if we didn't get to school and back on time," I said, trying to laugh it off.

"Did God help you?"

"No," I said rather bitterly, remembering my father's violent temper for the first time in years.

"Your dad was pretty rough on you?" she asked softly, almost in a whisper.

"I was glad to go to Miami," I admitted. "You know, the real reason I started stealing cars was so we could drive through that neighborhood instead of walking. I was way less afraid of getting caught than of being late getting to or from school."

Elena nodded understanding. "But, you did end up in Miami," she said pointedly. "So, maybe God did help you out." I shrugged. "I wanted God to change my dad too. But, God doesn't do that. He doesn't change people that don't want his help. I didn't understand that when I was a kid either."

I have her a half-hearted smile and tried to change the subject. "When were you the most scared?" I asked her, wondering if she'd just told me. But, she surprised me.

"I remember this one day when I was in California with my ex-. Well, not _with_ my ex-. He had found me a place to stay and then left me there. I didn't know when or if he would be back. I had pocket change, no car, no phone, no job, no way to pay another month's rent if he didn't come back. I was 2000 miles from home and I didn't know a soul in California. I had walked to a grocery store. I was standing there in a brightly lit aisle, surrounded by people shopping; mothers and children secure in their lives, knowing why they were there in the store, where they were going next when they got out to the car. People were living their lives, walking right past me like I wasn't even there. I just had no sense of being anchored, no connection. And it hit me that I was truly alone in the world. If I didn't come back to the apartment, no one would look for me for I don't know how long. I had no one to answer to, but I also had no one close to me, no one who loved me or cared about me. I couldn't decide if I was happy or sad. I remember getting a creeping chill over it."

"I know that feeling," I told her. "I've been in situations like that overseas, not sure I'd make it back. It's funny how little there is keeping our lives together sometimes. Sometimes there's nothing more than own will."

"Yeah," she agreed. "I don't like to believe that, but I guess it's true."

"We all have our own moral code," I told her. "That's all that separates us from descending into insanity."

"That's pretty scary," she said.

"Yes," I agreed. "But it's scarier to think about not having one."

She nodded. "Some people are like that."

"You know what I think?" I asked. "I think you've made up a pretty tough code for _yourself_."

"What do you mean?" she asked, turning to face me.

"I mean the way you've been over-compensating, pushing people away like you do," I told her, brushing her arm lightly, softening the blow. "When you use avoidance as a defensive mechanism, what you're really doing is expressing a lack of confidence in your ability to handle conflict and relationships one-on-one."

"What?" she asked, thinking she was hearing me wrong.

"You heard me. And another thing, when you hold yourself away from us, you let those bastards win."

She froze, thinking about what I was saying.

"You're not protecting yourself, you're withholding yourself." I hugged her tight. "It's okay for you to be soft and vulnerable, especially with the right guy."

"I don't get you," she whispered, wanting to play stupid.

"You know exactly what I mean," I said, finally getting where I wanted to go. "Tell me about Charlie."

"Charlie?" she asked, startled. "How do you know about Charlie?"

I didn't answer.

I already knew a few things about Charlie O'Connor. He was close to Elena's age and only a couple inches taller. I'd seen pictures of him that Silvio had gleaned from the local newspapers where he had been virtually undefeated on his high school wrestling team in Vinings, Georgia. At that time, he'd had loads of dirty blonde hair and an athletic body with a dark tan. I didn't know the details, but he'd had an accident about six years ago that left him completely blind due to a blunt force trauma to the back of his head. He was still apparently athletic, but now his sport was rowing. He was listed as a competitor in the annual Burton Rally, a two-man sculling race. Charlie and his partner had placed second the last four years running behind a pair of former Olympians who were rowing much lighter Kevlar boat. Impressive.

I had gleaned from Elena's notebook that Charlie and Elena had a lot in common, not the least of which was an aversion to opening themselves to more pain. Both had opened their very soft hearts to one another, and their correspondence was regular. But neither had made any suggestion that they should get together.

"How did you meet?" I asked. That part of the story I didn't know.

"Online," she said, obviously hoping to get out of any further explanation.

"Singles chat room?" I asked, being facetious.

"No, an online audio book club. We got more and more involved with it, and things just grew from there."

"Grew how?" I asked, pressing for more.

"We both loved exhaustively descriptive prose. One time we got into Gustave Flaubert. No one else wanted to. His descriptions are so long, even to the point that it was ludicrous. We would forget what the story was about because he took so long to describe the scenery, but Charlie really loved it because it let him see again. He remembers seeing, of course, but he likes seeing places and things in his mind that he didn't make up himself. He didn't read much before the accident. Now he listens to books all the time. But some of the stuff we wanted to get into isn't available on audio, so he talked me into reading them for him, recording them on MP3, and then I could just send the files to his computer."

"Doesn't he have an audio reader?"

"Yeah, but he says it sounds like the robot from _Lost in Space_, and it's annoying to listen to."

"Charlie may be blind, but he sure sees you."

"What are you getting at, Ranger?" She was about to end this conversation, I could tell.

"Why do you write to him in Braille?"

"What?" She asked. She didn't want me to go there, but I was going anyway.

"Why do you write to him in Braille? Why not just chat on the computer or on the phone?"

"We do chat on the computer," she said. "And we have talked on the phone."

"But you still send letters through the mail. You want me to tell you why?" She shook her head _no_. "Because it's more personal to hold the letter in your hand, isn't it? That's why he takes a pencil and ruler and works at sending you a letter in his own hand. That's why you poke holes in a piece of paper and run your finger over the raised bumps, knowing that he's going to read every word you wrote a hundred times. And I'm willing to bet that your letters to Charlie smell good."

She looked chagrined, but she didn't deny it.

"Why are you holding yourself away from him?" I asked.

"I really don't know Charlie all that well." She shrugged. "It's all just talk. It's like it's not even real."

"You've spent a lot of time on something you don't think is real." I hugged her tight again. "Charlie is blind and he's so far away that he isn't a threat to you."

"That's harsh," she complained.

"You are a strong woman. And Charlie isn't a coward. Since he's lost his sight, it seems to me that he's risen to the challenge. And here you are, telling me you want to hunt down the bad guys. You have both accomplished a lot just getting through life, day to day. But you need someone to care for, and someone to care for you. Charlie could be the one."

"Really?" she asked with a sarcastic tone. "And how do you know Charlie?" she asked.

"I know guys like Charlie."

"Yeah?"

"And I know you," I whispered. "What's holding you back?"

"There are too many unanswered questions."

"What kind of questions?"

"Why hasn't Charlie ever been married?" She gave me a doubtful little shake of her head. "He's too old to never have been in a serious relationship. Maybe there's a reason, and maybe it's not good."

"All the good ones are either gay or married, huh? Did he tell you he'd never had a relationship, or are you speculating?" I asked.

"He's never mentioned it."

"Did you ask?"

"Not directly."

"Maybe you should get answers to some of those questions before you write off a good man."

"What do you know?" she asked. "Did you do a background check on him?"

"Of course," I admitted.

"And?" she asked, giving me a look through narrowed eyes.

"There was an engagement announcement published in the Vinings newspaper two months before the accident. The wedding never took place. Maybe she couldn't handle it when Charlie lost his sight. Maybe he didn't handle it well and chased her off. Either way, he did have a serious relationship. I don't know if he's had one since."

She looked stunned. She hadn't known about the engagement.

"There might be a lot of things you don't know about Charlie. I'm sure there are things you haven't told him." I turned her face to me. "Does he know about me?" She shook her head "no". "Have you ever told _anyone_ else what you told me tonight?" I asked. She looked down, still ashamed, and shook her head "no".

"Someday you're going to have to talk to him about it." I stroked her hair again.

"No, I'm not." She said, resting her cheek against her bent knees again. "I'm going to live alone with a lot of cats, and we'll all eat tuna and ice cream, then we'll curl up on the couch and read till we all fall asleep." She could be so funny sometimes.

"Now that's just being selfish, Sunshine." I chuckled.

She stuck her tongue out and gave me a raspberry.

"You know what's funny?" She sighed. "You've been suffering from too much physical contact and no intimacy, and I've been suffering from too much intimacy and no physical contact."

"Opposites attract," I said, pretending to be flirting with her, giving her my most winning smile and the suggestive eyes.

She rolled her eyes at me.

"If one of the girls you have been counseling had this problem, what advice would you give her?" I asked.

"What advice would _you_ give?" she asked.

I just smiled my sexy little smile at her.

"Sorry I asked."

_To be continued..._


	29. Chapter 29 Ranger's POV Achilles

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena created by AutumnDreaming and Charlie, created by Charles Martin in the novel "When Crickets Cry"._

Two days later, my cell phone buzzed. It was Morelli, inviting me to a meeting at the station.

The invitation came in the form of a suggestion that I should bring in an FTA around 10:30 a.m. That would give me a valid excuse for being in the vicinity.

When I arrived, Trenton's former police chief, Joe Juniak, ushered me into the meeting, and I recognized the speaker as being the US Treasury agent Stephanie had worked with some time ago. When he finished, newly promoted Narcotics Detective Robin Russell, one of the few females at Trenton PD, gave an update on efforts being made to train one of the department's K-9's, a German Shepherd named Achilles. He was being trained to sniff out the new mix and was expected to be out on the street by the end of the week. Any tips were to be handed off to Russell.

I was sitting in an SUV with Tank and Lester six hours later, waiting for an armed and dangerous FTA, wanted for robbery, assault, and attempted murder, to visit the gym on Stark Street. I'd paid his on-again, off-again girlfriend to rat him out, and she'd called about 30 minutes ago.

My pager went off and displayed the message, "NJSP K-9 UNIT FT DIX JBTB1". Translation: The New Jersey State Police Canine Unit at Fort Dix Just Bit the Big One." Tank looked at his read out and looked over at me.

"Morelli?"

I shook my head. "I don't think so. The timing is off. Morelli would have known about the dog training days ago. It was just announced to the other officers this morning at the meeting."

"PD's got a mole?" he asked, scratching his head.

I turned back to Tank. "I don't think so. I have a bad feeling."

I started the SUV and dialed the control room, speaking into my hands-free. "Make sure Steph and Elena don't leave the Rangeman building. Stun them and cuff them if you have to. We're going on-scene."

We drove 25 minutes to the Canine Unit Training Center in Wrightstown, just outside Fort Dix, and parked three blocks away, watching the ambulance and rescue crews working on the back side of the building. It looked like a bomb had ripped away the back of the training compound, the area most likely to have held the dogs.

Morelli had picked us up on the highway and pulled in beside us. We all got out and watched.

"You tell Terry about this?" I asked.

"Nope." He watched the fire department putting out a smoldering pile of rubble that had landed about 25 feet from the structure.

Morelli was carrying a police walkie-talkie that was buzzing with communication. They had at least three people confirmed dead, and they were making guesses as to how many more based on partial remains. They weren't concerned about the count on the dogs just yet, but none were reported alive. Injured officers from other parts of the building were being treated by the ambulance, most being transported in police cars to the hospital afterwards.

"I don't suppose it would be much of a stretch for someone to figure drug-sniffing dogs were going to be used sooner or later," Lester said.

"It doesn't feel right," I said again. "It happened too fast and the target was too specific."

When it appeared the survivors had all been cleared and the fires were out, Morelli and I walked over to the scene and identified ourselves. Morelli began assisting the other detectives, and I followed as an observer, staying out of the way.

Rescue workers and firemen were trying to clear cinder blocks and rubble from a stairwell that lead to the lower level. We finally made it past the debris and down the corridor leading to the K-9 training facility. The doors had been blown out of the frames and glass was everywhere; on the floor, embedded in the walls and ceiling, and as sparkling dust blowing around in the air we were breathing. We had to back out and put on dust masks before we went any further.

It was gruesome inside the pens. Morelli had a real soft spot for dogs, and I could see him fighting to keep from tearing up. No one spoke, just pointed and gestured. The stench of blood and burnt hair was sickening. One of the photographers came down first and took pictures. Then we lifted some of the debris off the crushed pens, trying to free the bodies. It was hard to say if the blast itself or the falling structure had done the most damage. The going was slow. Tank and Lester served as relief for some of the rescue workers up top, and Morelli and I worked as a team bringing up body bags.

We were almost done, we thought, when we removed a large section of sheet rock and heard a low growling. We froze and listened. Behind the broken section of wall, we found an injured dog. The German Shepherd was wearing a Kevlar vest with the name Achilles on it.

"You're shitting me," I breathed.

"We have a big problem," Morelli said to me, slowly and calmly, trying not to disturb the dog.

"I see that," I agreed, backing up very slowly, my hand on my gun.

"We need that dog, Manoso," he whispered, warning me against shooting him.

"If he comes for me, he's a dead dog," I said, making my intentions clear.

Achilles was bleeding from a large gash on his head. One ear was almost severed, and he still had glass sticking out from the wound. He had taken a lot of glass on one side, and his fur was matted with blood and ooze. He was lying on the side that hadn't taken glass. He wasn't acting right, like he was having trouble seeing. He probably had one hell of a concussion, and I wasn't even sure if he could hear. His eardrums were probably ringing like mad, if he could still hear at all.

We backed out slowly. There was no way to shut the dog in, and no way to bring him out as he was. We called for the veterinarian who was on site, and he cautiously followed us down. He had declined to bring a tranquilizer gun with him because it could kill the dog if he had a severe concussion.

"We need that dog," Morelli said again. "He's the only one we have trained to sniff out Jezebel's Rope."

"Well, you'll have to train a new dog," the vet said. "This one won't be back on the streets for weeks or months, if ever."

"We don't have time, and we don't have any more samples to train with," Morelli argued.

"Don't tell me," I moaned. "It was all in there?"

"Yep," he said. "All of it."

"What about the lab?"

"They had what little they needed, but it's not enough to train with," he said.

"So, unless we find more, this dog's the only one who can sniff it out?" I asked.

"He's it," Morelli said. "We have to get that dog."

I knew that most drug-sniffing dogs only responded to their handler, and many are trained to be hostile to all other people so that they can't be called off or used by criminals in the field.

"Where's his handler?" I asked.

"There," Morelli pointed to one of the last body bags we had brought up.

"Great."

I watched Morelli pace back and forth a little, trying to think of a solution. There is always a solution. We couldn't drug the dog, and we couldn't man-handle the dog. Hell, we couldn't even approach the dog.

"Hold it," I said, the thought flashing through my mind like a shot. "I have a suggestion, but I don't think you're going to like it."

"Try me," Morelli pressed.

"I have an employee rumored to have a way with animals. She might be able to help us out, if she's willing. Should I call her?"

"Her?" Morelli stared at me in stunned silence for a beat. "Who?"

"Her name is Elena. She's Rangeman's skip tracer. Been with us a few months now."

"Does Steph know?" He asked.

"Know what?" I asked, giving him a warning look. He didn't ask the next question that had surfaced in his mind, so I gave him the answer. "Elena is Steph's partner…and her new roommate."

"Steph's not living with you?" he asked, surprised. Too pleasantly surprised as far as I was concerned.

"No, she never was." I owed it to Steph to tell him the truth. "That doesn't mean what you hope it means, either." I owed it to myself to assure him of that. "So, should I call Elena?"

Morelli consulted with the vet and the State Police Chief who was in charge of the site. Finally, he came back over to me with their consent.

Elena and Steph arrived with Hal. Hal hovered over Steph as I introduced Morelli and Elena. Elena had to fill out several forms that said she was volunteering her services and wouldn't sue if she was injured. Then the three of us cautiously descended the stairs, walked slowly down the corridor, and listened at the door to the room where we had left Achilles. He was still lying where we had found him, and he was still breathing.

Elena took a long look, and then pointed for us to go back up.

"Okay, here's the deal," she told us, taking charge of the situation. "I need a large dog crate set up right at the top of the stairs. I need the door open and ready for us. When I bring him up, I may have difficulty getting him in the cage." She paused, looking around for effect. "Do not help me," she said slowly and clearly. "He's a big dog, and he's heavy, and I'm going to slip on the glass, and I might even drop him or fall." She looked around again, looking us each in the eye. "Do not help me. Do not approach. Don't do anything at all until I have him locked in the cage."

She walked over to the vet. "I need some towels and peroxide so I can clean him up before I put him in the crate."

"You'll be lucky to make it up here with him at all. He's not going to let you clean him up," he said, almost laughing at her.

"If it will help him to be more comfortable, I _will_ clean him up," she said with every confidence. She gave him a defiant look, one I had become accustomed to seeing, and grabbed two bottles of peroxide and a stack of clean towels from his truck. "I get the feeling you won't be helping him out anytime soon," she said in a huff.

She walked back to the entrance, and I put my hand on her back. "Calm down," I said, rubbing her back. "Take a deep breath." She did, and then popped her neck and tried to release as much tension as she could. "I'll go with you," I said, but she shook her head.

"You can't go," she said firmly. "Just me."

"If I hear anything," I said, intending to blow that dog away if he even thought about tearing into her.

"You won't do anything," she said firmly. "I've got this." She looked me squarely in the eyes.

"Be careful," I told her.

"I know what I'm doing." She walked slowly down the stairs. Turning at the bottom, she took one of the towels and started wiping the glass from the stairs. She swept a clear trail in the glass all the way into the room, and disappeared from my sight. She peeked back out, and pointed for me to get back. She didn't want Achilles to see anyone until she had him locked up.

It was hell waiting. I was as close as I could get. My Glock was ready in my hand. I closed my eyes and listened, motioning for silence. I didn't hear anything for a few minutes. Then I heard growling. Low sustained growling. Then I heard singing. Elena was singing softly, and I could hear glass sliding softly every so often. She wasn't stepping on the glass. She was pushing the glass out of the way, probably with one of the towels. It sounded like she was crawling towards the dog.

The low growling was constant, but it didn't get any louder and he didn't bark any warnings.

"She's almost there," I whispered to Morelli.

I could hear her saying his name, Achilles, and telling him what a good boy he was and that she was there to help him. She was shooshing him and whispering encouragement to him, and never stopped talking to him. The growling continued. I could sense she was getting closer.

This trained and wounded attack dog could inflict a lethal bite in less than a second. I was really regretting calling Elena. I should have just shot the damn dog and been done with it. Damn Morelli and his soft spot for dogs. That's why he had been saddled with that worthless, orange garbage-disposal, Bob. Other than leaving unspeakable messes on Joyce Barnhardt's lawn and keeping Steph company, Bob was absolutely worthless.

My thighs were cramping after about twenty-five minutes of crouching by the doorway, listening with every nerve on stand-by as Elena cleaned Achilles' wounds. He whined, whimpered, growled, cried, and even barked a few times, but she kept talking to him the whole time, even reprimanding him a few times, which I thought took serious guts. She took command of him, just like she had taken command of the situation. It wasn't ego, it was all heart. She just wanted to help that stupid dog, and nothing short of physical force was going to stop her.

I heard the rip of velcro as she tried to remove his Kevlar vest. He complained loudly as she worked to free his legs. It was ten more minutes before I heard her singing, "We're coming out now, everyone get out of the way. I don't want to see you," over and over to the same tune she'd been singing earlier. When she was sure we'd heard her, she switched back to the original encouraging words she had been saying to Achilles when she'd entered.

I could hear the dog's whining and groaning change to alarm when he saw the dog crate. But she immediately changed her tune and verbally expressed her disappointment in him. There was an escalation in the volume of their exchanges as Achilles tried to get away. She held him tight and continued expressing her disappointment very loudly. Then she commanded him to stop. It was as simple as that. She insisted that he stop, and we didn't hear anything else but her struggling with him up the stairs and his whining due to the pain.

I didn't wait for her to give the all clear. The second I hear the latch shut on the crate, I came around the corner and pulled her up the remaining stairs to the light. Her hands and arms were bloody, but she didn't look like she was bitten or cut. She wiped her hands on the damp towel I handed her.

She didn't look back as the vet lead the men pulling the crate from the hole. Achilles barked and growled viciously, trying to bite off any fingers that got close to the holes of the crate.

"Morelli," she called. He walked quickly over and checked her hands, just as I had done. "He's not hurt that bad. His legs aren't broken, and he's able to hear some. But I think he's lost vision in one eye, and he's confused and scared right now. Mostly he's in shock."

"There's no way they're going to allow him in the field anytime soon, and probably never if he's lost an eye and hearing." Morelli had already made up his mind. "I'll try to get him released, if possible, to my care, but it won't be easy."

"Will they put him down?" Elena asked, fearing that was exactly what the assessment would be.

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Morelli assured her.

He took a long look at Steph, and then followed the vet over to his vehicle where an intense negotiation was soon taking place.

"I wonder if he'll get along with Bob," Steph frowned, understandably worried, as we drove away.

"Bob will ruin what was one of New Jersey's finest in a matter of weeks," I told her. "Once he was learning how to bring down Trenton's most dangerous drug cartels. Now all he'll be bring down are Morelli's dining room curtains."

The girls were laughing in the back seat of the SUV. It was a tension-breaker.

"We were all bad asses once," Tank lamented with a shake of his head. I knew what he meant. Bad asses drive around strapped with guns and knives looking for trouble. But here we were, playing chauffeur to a couple giggling girls, rescuing dogs, and playing matchmaker. Hell, I was even contemplating marriage.

I almost smiled.

_To be continued..._


	30. Chapter 30 Ranger's POV The Viewing

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena and Rev. Percy Johnson created by AutumnDreaming and Charlie, created by Charles Martin in the novel "When Crickets Cry"._

"We have a problem," Steph said, coming into my office the next morning and closing the door.

"Babe." I laid aside the FTA file I was working on and turned off my computer monitor, giving her my full attention.

"About Jackie's funeral, I need to go over some of the details with you."

I leaned back in my chair as Steph sat on the opposite side of my desk.

"Well, we got clearance to take Jackie's body, so now we have to make the actual arrangements. We called Dave and Scooter to pick up the body and take it to the funeral home. But, I think we might want a closed casket, and you know what I'll have to go through with Grandma Mazur on that one."

"I can imagine," I nodded, trying to sound sympathetic while trying not to laugh. Grandma Mazur wouldn't be happy till she'd gotten the lid up. "Anything else?"

"Well, yeah." She cringed. "Lula wants a real funeral, not just a viewing."

"And?"

"So, who am I going to get to officiate?" she groaned.

"Don't look at me," I said.

"Ranger, be serious. I can't ask a priest to officiate at the funeral of a street ho who died taking drugs provided by a prostitution ring controlled by the Mob. My mother would kill me!"

"I don't see why not. The mobsters are Catholic," I said, trying not to smile at her plight.

"Well, that's another problem. Lula says Jackie wasn't Catholic. She was Presbyterian or Pentecostal, or something with a P in it, she thought."

"If you mean Protestant, that covers a lot of territory, Babe."

"Yeah? Well, I don't think it matters as long as Lula is happy, and believe me, she won't know the difference."

"Why don't you just ask Elena?" I suggested.

"I did. Her preacher is out of town till next week," she whined. "And besides, Lula said she wants an old-fashioned preacher who will 'preach it to the rafters', and I don't get the feeling Elena's preacher fits the bill, at least, not exactly."

"Let me get this straight. You want me to find a hell-fire Protestant preacher to officiate at Jackie's funeral." She nodded. "Any other requirements?" I asked, getting the feeling she was leading up to something.

"Just one," she groaned, leaning back in her chair. "Lula thinks the preacher should be black."

I rubbed my forehead. "When do you need this done by?"

Steph handed me her rough outline for the funeral programs. The funeral was in two days. Not much time. "Babe," I groaned.

"Can you help me?" she asked.

Steph had been writing on the paper while talking on the phone. I could tell, because she'd doodled and retraced the doodle so many times she'd made tracks in the paper. As I traced the raised circles of one of the doodles, I got an idea.

"Leave the preacher to me, Babe." I smiled. "I know just the man to call."

* * *

I'd been waiting for an opportunity to pay Elena back for what she'd done for me - and to me - in Miami. And this was opportunity knocking.

I dialed Charlie's number, waiting for over a dozen rings before he answered.

"It's your buck-fifty," he said when he finally picked up. "Go ahead."

"Charlie O'Connor?" I asked.

"That's my name. What's yours?"

"Carlos Manoso." I paused to see if he would recognize me. "Elena might have referred to me as Ranger."

"She's referred to you," he said. Either Elena had lied when she said Charlie didn't know about me, or else she'd had a long talk with him since.

"Does she tell you everything?" I asked, hoping for a positive answer.

"I'd like to think so. You should know she always can," he assured me. It sounded like maybe they'd had a long talk very recently. That was encouraging.

"Has she told you anything about a woman named Jackie?" I wondered.

"I understand there's going to be a funeral day after tomorrow," he said, his Southern accent smooth and easy. He sounded very relaxed. "Is that why you're calling? Thought I wouldn't be able to read the invitation, huh?" Smart guy.

"I was hoping you could come for two reasons. First, I thought you might like to surprise Elena. And second, I wondered if you would be able to help us locate a preacher to officiate."

"Don't you have any preachers in New Jersey?" he asked, sounding rather amused, but curious.

"We have a few, but we were looking for one a little darker and more experienced, if you know what I mean." I paused. "And we were thinking Jackie would prefer a service with more of an old-fashioned Southern flavor."

"I see. You need a _brother_ brother instead of a Father," Charlie quipped. He paused, running down a mental list. "Someone older, more traditional," he thought out loud.

"You know anyone who might fit the bill?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah. I know just the guy," he assured me.

"Maybe you could bring him with you," I suggested, "assuming you don't have anything better to do. Attending viewings and funerals is all we ever seem to do for entertainment around here."

"You mean aside from blowing up cars and buildings and getting shot," he chuckled.

"That too."

"Hey, sounds like a good time to me," he agreed with good-natured humor.

I gave him directions and the information Steph had given me. Charlie called his friend, the Reverend Percy Johnson, and then called me back to make the final arrangements. I finished filling in the blanks on Steph's program so she could send it for printing.

"I'll be seeing you soon," Charlie said, laughing as he hung up. Blind man humor.

* * *

I was on my cell phone talking to Steph while dressing in my closet. I was wearing a tailored, black Gucci suit and tie, black shirt, black belt, black dress shoes, black dress watch, black everything.

"You want me to make sure Elena smells good?" Steph asked, thinking she must have heard me wrong. "What do you mean by that?"

"Elena has a secret pen pal."

"A man?" Steph gasped, surprised. I had her attention now. Her Spidey sense was on. I could almost hear it humming in my ears.

"A very special man. I need you to find out what perfume Elena has been spraying on his letters. Make sure she's wearing it to the funeral this afternoon And _do not_ let on that you know about the man or the letters. It's vital that you don't tip her off."

"Is he going to be at the funeral?" She asked, almost giddy with excitement. "Is this the first time they'll meet?"

"Yes, and yes."

"Crap! I don't have time to find her something nice to wear." she complained. "She's planning on wearing the usual Rangeman uniform, just like the guys," she said, panicking.

"It doesn't matter what she wears, just as long as she smells good," I assured her.

"What? Are you nuts?" she protested. "I have to get her to do something with that hair!" I could hear her digging into the closet.

"Babe, the man is totally blind. It doesn't matter what she wears. Just get her there, and find out what he's expecting her to smell like. She puts something on his letters. Find out what it is, and make sure you get some on her!"

"Oh, well, I can do that," she responded with enthusiasm. "Oh, wait. You know what? When we were shopping at Macy's, she did say something about saving a fragrance for a special occasion."

"I know you'll figure it out," I told her. "See you there." And I disconnected.

* * *

Steph and Elena were providing moral support for Lula in the viewing room, and I suspected keeping an eye out for the imminent arrival of Grandma Mazur. Stephanie had agreed to let her come early and have a peek inside the casket in order to prevent her from prying it open during the service.

Lula had lifted the lid and was looking down at Jackie's face. Dave and Scooter had prepared the body for viewing, just in case. The makeup job was really good. Jackie hadn't looked this good in life. Her hands were crossed peacefully on her stomach, and she was dressed in a conservative, dark green dress with gold jewelry. Elena and Stephanie had picked it out.

Lula was wearing a little black and gold glittery Spandex dress with rhinestone jewelry and a sequin headband. Her hair was piled on top of her head, smooth and brown, just a few shades lighter than her skin. I think this was clearly the nicest I had ever seen Lula look. She was tearing up, wiping her eyes with her Kleenex, apparently too distraught to notice that one of her glittery fake eyelashes had come off. She tossed the Kleenex in the trash and grabbed another, blowing her nose with a loud honk.

Lula started leaning over the casket, and Steph jumped up, worried that she was going to lean too hard and tip the casket over. "Jackie," Lula cried. Steph hugged her, wanting to be a supportive friend at this difficult time. Lula and Jackie had both been working girls, living together down on Stark Street during what now seemed like another lifetime, which it was. That had been life before Stephanie Plum.

"Jackie," Lula cried again, looking down into the casket, "You stupid ho!" she yelled.

Steph jumped back. "Yikes!" she exclaimed, giving Lula the disbelieving look only a woman from the Burg can do justice to. "What are you doing? You don't speak ill of the dead, especially at their own viewing! It just isn't done!"

"You're right," Lula said, apologizing, trying to regain her composure by slicking her hair back. She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry Jackie," Lula said, reaching in to pat her hand, and then pulled it back quickly, realizing she'd just touched a dead body. "Oh, oh, oh!" she cried, jumping around, looking for another Kleenex. She wiped her hand, and rubbed it on her skirt, and then realized she'd just infected herself even further. "Death cooties, death cooties," she cried. She tried to wipe her hand on Steph, but Steph jumped away.

"Just go wash!" Steph yelled at her, bumping into Grandma Mazur.

Lula rushed off as Steph escorted Grandma Mazur into the viewing room. Grandma Mazur had brought her new beau with her, Crazy Carl Coglin, the taxidermist with an explosive flair for the dramatic. The three of them peered into the open casket, and Carl began making observations and critiquing the work Dave had done on Jackie. Carl was making suggestions as to how he would have handled the job. I could see Elena struggling to hide her shock and horror, which was surely strangely mingled with amusement.

I just couldn't watch this with a straight face. I went to the front door to wait for Charlie and the Reverend Percy Johnson.

They weren't hard to spot. Charlie was stocky with large forearms, biceps, and a muscular chest. He still had loads of dirty blonde hair. He was wearing a black suit and tie, dark sunglasses, and had a short black stick in his free hand, which I assumed was a telescoping walking stick.

He was walking arm in arm with a heavy-set black man in a very worn black suit with a string tie. The Reverend was around 60, balding with short cropped salt and pepper hair. His large eyes were slightly jaundiced, and when he smiled, you got the feeling that those false teeth he was wearing might not have originally belonged to him. He was tall, broad, and imposing.

I watched them approach and met them at the door.

"Carlos Manoso," I introduced myself, offering Reverend Johnson my hand. His handshake was warm and firm.

"Percy Johnson," he said simply, disregarding his title. "And this is Charlie O'Connor."

Charlie held his hand out in front of him, and I took it. His handshake was also firm, but he didn't let go. He was studying my hand as much as shaking it.

"So, this is the 'black lion'. I've heard so much about you lately. It's a pleasure," he said, still refusing to return my hand.

I leaned closer. "How's that?"

He was speaking in a low tone, confidentially, sensing no one else was in our immediate vicinity. "That's how Elena described you. She says you're always dressed in black. You're the king of the urban jungle. And you let the ladies chase down your quarry before you take part in the kill. I'll bet you roar like one too. Dangerous and beautiful." He finally let go of my hand. I didn't feel comfortable with a guy whispering to me that I was "dangerous and beautiful", so I took a step back. Charlie grinned. "And heterosexual. Good," he noted, as if checking off a mental list. This must be one of Charlie's quirks, I thought.

"Elena's favorite animal at the zoo is the lion. She says she always goes there first. A long time ago she told me how much she wanted to be able to hold a real lion and hear it purr, hear it's heart beat. She expected to be able to do that once we get to Heaven, but it turns out she didn't have to wait that long." He paused, tipping his head to the side. "She says you let her feel that, on the gun range."

"She did?" I asked, stunned and rather speechless. I hadn't realized that when I had encouraged her to talk to Charlie that she had been ready to give so much.

"I told you before, she can tell me anything." He paused, pushing his glasses down his nose, giving the impression he was looking over his glasses at me, even though I knew he wasn't seeing me. "That's not to say I'm not incredibly jealous, but thank you for inviting me and for being there for Elena when she wouldn't let me."

"She's a keeper, Charlie. Take it slow and steady. Don't lose her," I advised, wanting to encourage him.

He smiled weakly, obviously nervous, and nodded. "Hey, Ranger," he grinned suddenly, "When I do land that prize catch…you know a good taxidermist I can call?" Percy groaned.

"Funny you should mention it," I said, looking over my shoulder to see Carl Coglin walking towards us with Grandma Mazur on his arm. "Here comes one now."

"Figures, you can never find a good taxidermist when you need one, but when you're empty handed…" Charlie pretended to complain.

Stephanie and Elena were following them out, as Tank was walking Lula into the sanctuary to wait for the funeral to begin. Scooter and Dave were acting as ushers at the doors, handing out programs and assisting in seating people.

"Wait here," I said to Charlie.

"You're going to be fine," Percy said to him, patting him on the back. "I'm going in."

"Okay." Charlie reached out and touched the wall beside him, then his fingers brushed past a large floral arrangement. He let his hands travel down to the polished wooden table in front of him. There were brochures and pamphlets lying there, and he turned to face the table, as if perusing the information. His back was to Elena as she approached.

I put my arm around Elena's waist and guided her away from Stephanie and Grandma Mazur and towards Charlie. As I did, I noticed a faint spattering of reddish powder that was clinging to her black Rangeman shirt. There was a little brown-red streak of powder on her neck and behind her ear, too. She smelled sweetly of what must have been some kind of kitchen spice that I couldn't place. She was actually making my mouth water. I wanted to say it was ginger, but it wasn't. It was hot and cold like eucalyptus or camphor or lemon grass, but it wasn't. It was as sweet as cinnamon, nutmeg, sugar, and clove, but it wasn't. It was clean like soap, green like the woods, and almost a musk, but it wasn't. It drove me nuts, and I liked it.

"What?" she half whispered as I pulled her closer.

"You smell good, Sunshine," I said, just a little too flirty.

"Shut up!" she said, elbowing me in the rib.

"Want to tell me about it?"

"No," she said, crossing her arms as I marched her forward.

"Guess again." She smacked me in the chest. I turned into her and gave her a small, sly smile. "That Stephanie can be such a klutz sometimes," I said, clicking my tongue in a little "tisk, tisk, tisk".

I got the death glare as she realized something was up. I was walking her fast to the front door. She froze in her tracks when she realized I couldn't be steering her anywhere but to the sandy-haired man by the door. Her breath caught.

"It's payback time," I whispered back to her, and I pushed her forward.

Charlie had no doubt heard our exchange, because he turned around at just the right moment, and smiled a winning smile.

"Charlie," she gasped, her mouth falling open.

Charlie slowly removed his sunglasses, and gave the appearance of looking her up and down. "Elena." Her name slid off his tongue with a Southern accent that made it sound like poetry. "I never knew you were so beautiful."

"That routine won't work on me, silly," she playfully admonished him.

"When I hear you say my name, it's beautiful, and you're beautiful to me." He pushed his glasses back onto his nose. "I'm sorry to surprise you like this," he apologized. "I should have let you know I was coming. I should have asked if you wanted me to come."

"No, it's fine. Really," she said, stumbling over her words a little.

"I could go back," he offered, jerking his thumb behind him over his shoulder.

"Georgia's the other way," she told him as if he were exasperating her. "You'd better stay. You might get lost if I let you wander around alone out there."

"I suppose," he said, pretending to be defeated.

He held out his arm, and she gingerly took it. I could see him soaking up the scent that was filling his senses as they walked towards the sanctuary together.

"So, how was the drive?" she asked.

"You know, the scenery wasn't much to look at, really."

"So, how did you pass the time?" she asked, playing to Charlie's off-beat sense of humor, which she obviously enjoyed.

"I rented a car, with shocks and everything, so I could read on the way up." Percy had returned to Charlie's side and tipped an imaginary hat to Elena. Charlie sensed Percy's approach. "I can't read in Percy's old jalopy," he told Elena loudly enough that Percy could hear him. "He has an old Impala with 400 horse power, but every other horse is either lame or suffering from a severe limp, and when they all try to run together, it's a big mess. Horses are all running into each other, making noise, bucking and kicking, and there's always a big cloud of smoke getting kicked up before they get anywhere. I say, 'Percy, just untie 'em and let 'em go to pasture, Pastor.'"

"You're a nut," she said, giving his arm a little squeeze. Charlie grinned.

"I can't believe I got talked into taking a road trip with this turkey," Percy complained to Elena. "He's always waving like an idiot at people as we pass, embarrassing me half to death. Then he wants a play by play on the reaction he's getting. After 800 miles, I'm all out of descriptors."

"Yeah, now all I get is: laughed, looks scared, flipped you the bird, you already waved at them, rolled their eyes, has a gun…actually, that's how I knew we were in New Jersey," he said.

"I swear, I can't take him nowhere," Percy complained, slapping Charlie playfully on the back.

Charlie and Elena followed Percy into the sanctuary. Charlie appeared to be escorting Elena down the aisle when in fact, it was the other way around. There was no denying it. Charlie and Elena were good together.

_To be continued…_


	31. Chapter 31 Ranger's POV Jackie's Funeral

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena and Rev. Percy Johnson created by AutumnDreaming and Charlie created by Charles Martin in the novel "When Crickets Cry"._

I walked to the front of the sanctuary and sat on the end of the second row of folding chairs, so that I had easy access to the end aisle by the wall. Steph was sitting between me and Lula. Tank was on Lula's other side on the center aisle, holding her hand. Charlie was seated behind me, and Elena behind Steph.

The sanctuary was filling up quickly. Lula wanted a full house, so Tank and I had provided all but those monitoring security posts with paid time off if they chose to attend. And when Tank and I strongly suggest that our men should do something, they do it. They had been instructed to fill in the front first and work their way back, leaving empty seats between them so attendance would look better than it actually was. The scene looked more like a tactical briefing than a funeral, but at least we were all in black.

Vinnie hobbled in with Joyce in tow. One leg was in a walking cast. He had one crutch under his good arm. The other arm was in a full cast from his shoulder down, hanging from a sling. Both eyes were black, and he couldn't open one of them at all, so he was craning his neck to peer out of the slit of the other one.

Joe and Terry had slipped quietly into the center row on the opposite side from us, making their first public appearance. Stephanie hadn't noticed, and I wasn't about to tell her. I shot Joe a cautious look to let him know I saw him, and he nodded to me.

The back few rows were a mixed hodge-podge of prostitutes, druggies, counselors, and customers.

With most of the seats filled, Reverend Percy Johnson rose from his seat on the front row, climbed the steps to the platform and approached the podium. He waited for silence, and then began.

"It is an honor to be here on this day of celebration," he announced with cheerful enthusiasm.

Everyone looked around confused.

"The angels in heaven are prepared to throw a huge party today." He looked ecstatic. Someone gave an "Amen, Brother," and everyone turned to look at Charlie. Elena was trying hard not to smile as she elbowed him.

"You know, every time I officiate a funeral, I'm reminded of my uncle, Max. Max died in a Mississippi hospital, and as he lay dying, he was asking for a sign to bring him peace. And lo and behold, a young nurse came into his room singing. He asked her if she knew this and that song - old songs from his youth that young people wouldn't know these days – and you know she _did_ know those songs. She sat by his bed and sang for him till the angels took over and I tell you, I don't think old Max ever even noticed."

Lula leaned over to Steph and whispered, "Who's Max? Doesn't he know this is Jackie's funeral? Someone tell him!"

Steph shushed her.

"Yes, he knows," Charlie whispered back, snickering. "Don't worry. Percy takes his time getting to the point, but he's very effective."

"Effective?" Lula repeated, still confused.

Percy was just getting warmed up. "Praise God, that's how he left this world – with a smile on his face." Percy walked down one side of the platform and looked out over the mourners. "Isn't that how you'd wanna go out, boy?" he asked Tank.

Tank was shocked at being addressed from the pulpit, not to mention being called 'boy', and nodded sheepishly.

"Yes?" Percy asked, his eyebrows raised like a drill sergeant.

"Uh…yeah," Tank said, nodding again more vigorously. Percy grinned at him.

"How 'bout you?" he asked, slowly addressing the rest of the crowd. "Is that the way you want to go? At peace, smiling, being serenaded by a lovely young woman of God till the angels carry you away to your heavenly reward?"

A hush fell, followed by an uncomfortable silence. No one else wanted to be singled out by the eagle eye of Reverend Johnson.

"Gentlemen?" He scanned the room for a nod or two. "Ladies?" He paused for dramatic effect. "Are you ready?"

"I'm ready for Jackie's funeral to start," Lula said loud enough everyone could hear her.

"Me too," Reverend Johnson told her. "What about Jackie?" He waved his hand towards the closed casket. "Are you ready, friends? Or, do you choose to think, like your dear friend, Jackie, that death will wait for you to call and say you're ready? Do you plan to make an appointment?"

He looked out over the audience again. "I see a group of men here today," he said, pointing out the Rangeman uniforms, "who have probably taken bullets and can show me a few stab wounds. You boys are still out collecting those scars, aren't you? Risking it all, everyday." His black Southern accent was strong and his words came fast, peppering them like a rap song about rubber bullets. "Believe me, that last day is on its way for you too. And, by the way, you can't make an appointment. Death doesn't keep convenient hours."

Suddenly changing tact and striding across the platform, now seemingly in a contemplative mood, addressing the entire assembly, he asked loudly, "Do you know why people don't like funerals? Why they avoid funerals? Refuse to attend funerals?"

"What about Jackie? He said we were getting to Jackie now," Lula whined.

"It's the crying," the Reverend continued. "There's crying, isn't there?" he asked, aiming the question at Lula, who still had only one false eyelash on.

Lula nodded and sniffed appreciatively.

"Yes, there's crying," he said as if lamenting the entire funeral business. "And men don't cry, do we? 'Snot allowed." He stood dramatically, shaking his head as if that were a sad state of affairs. "And what can you say?" He gestured to Lula who was dabbing at her eyes again.

Actually, she was trying to get the remaining eyelash off.

"What can you say?" he asked again. "Nothing. Can't say a thing." He shook his head again sadly. "Can't say nothing or do nothing that will bring Jackie back."

"And then there's the sermon." He paced again, as if distraught. "Oh, that dreaded sermon, where you sit bored to tears, waiting for it to end…where the deceased was born, how she lived, who she loved, how she died…and if you're really unfortunate, you have to endure tear-jerking, sentimental testimonials from those dear friends and relatives that the recently departed has left behind."

Charlie was grinning ear to ear. He'd heard this sermon a few times before. He was lipping the words along with Reverend Johnson. Elena was watching him as his lips silently formed the words Reverend Johnson spoke next, "And by that time, your butt is sound asleep in the seat!" He grinned and Elena closed her eyes in embarrassed disbelief.

"Friends, I'm here to tell you, you don't need to worry about Jackie. You don't need to know where she's been. And I can't tell you exactly how or why she died, or even where she is now."

Lula sat bolt upright in her seat. "What's he mean he doesn't know where she is now?"

"I can only tell you one thing about Jackie with any certainly. She's made all the Earthly decisions she's ever going to make. Her fate has been decided for all eternity."

Lula was struggling to stand, but Tank held her down by the arm. "Did that man just say Jackie's not in heaven? Is he insinuating that because she's a ho, she's in hell?"

"He didn't say that," Charlie assured her.

"Damn sure sounded that way," Lula said, turning around to look at Charlie.

"He said we don't know. Because we don't know. Just wait." Lula wasn't happy with that answer, but she turned back around and gave her attention back to the Reverend.

"So, why don't we stop worrying about Jackie and let's worry about you," he said to Lula.

"Me?" Lula squeaked. "I'm good." She crossed herself to show she had it going on. But that didn't impress the Reverend Percy Johnson.

"Do you know what death is?" Everyone looked a little confused by the question. "Death is a punishment for a crime." He paced the front of the platform again, looking out at every one of the RangeMan team. "I understand you boys here in the black SWAT outfits are bounty hunters. And I understand that some of you in this room have been in prison for committing a crime."

There were a few nods from the men.

"For the sake of argument, let's say you committed a crime. You're guilt – as sin – and the judge looks up that crime in a book, doesn't he? You know how it works. The book lists the appropriate, acceptable punishment for each crime, and it is based on that book that he hands out your sentence. And once you are sentenced, you are sent to pay your debt to society – unwillingly I might add. Right?"

There were a few nods, as the Reverend's eyes bored into the military style men demanding an answer to his question.

"Where do you think that system of justice – the system you boys are working within – came from?" He didn't wait for an answer, but slammed his bible down on the podium with a thunderous boom. "It came from God!" he boomed. "And this is the book he refers to when he hands out our sentence!"

"Oh, Lord!" Lula gasped.

"Hey, you're the one who wanted it 'preached to the rafters," Steph reminded her. "You asked for a real preacher. And you got one."

"Amen," Charlie added, to Steph's comment.

Lula started fanning herself vigorously with her program.

The Reverend waited patiently for the little exchange to conclude, so he had everyone's attention again. "Let me lay it out for you." He looked around the room again, pausing for effect. "Pay attention!" he boomed unexpectedly. "I didn't come all this way to hear snoring!"

Lula almost passed out in her seat.

"The definition of sin is a crime. In order for a crime to be committed, there must be a law to break. So what law are we talking about?"

He came back around the podium and paced the platform again, changing his entire demeanor. He looked like a scholar debating the merits of his senior thesis.

"Men are so stupid, aren't we?" he asked softly, in a much more intimate tone, shaking his head sadly. "We really are." He continued pacing. "We want to twist the truth and weasel our way out of everything. We'll do anything to get our own way."

He returned to the podium and flipped open his bible. "In this book, there are ten commandments God gave Moses, and these are the laws that God requires all men to live by." He ran his finger dramatically down a page, poking the page ten times. "He didn't give one hundred. He didn't give one thousand. He only gave us ten." He paused again, looking around.

Ten!" he boomed. Lula jumped a foot out of her seat. "And not one of us here has been able to abide by them. Not one."

"So, if breaking a commandment is a sin, and a sin is a crime, what is the punishment written in the book?" he asked, as if he wasn't sure and might be confused. He looked down into the book.

"Oh, here it is." He smiled. "It's death!" he boomed, suddenly appearing very angry, changing gears so quickly and completely, that Lula squeaked and jumped from her chair and tried to duck under the seat in front of her. Only her head fit, so she looked like a sequined ostrich, with her rear end stuck up in the air, truly testing the limits of her Spandex. And the Spandex was losing that tug-of-war. It was a really good thing Charlie was already blind. No damage done.

The Reverend pretended to ignore Lula and continued. "Do you know what death means?" There were confused faces in the crowd, and it was clear from the utter silence that he had everyone's attention. "This death, this punishment, does not mean your body dies. In fact, the death of your body is the least of your concerns, friends, because we're all going to get a new one…every one of us…the good, the bad, and the ugly."

There were a few snickers at that. Lula was finally out of breath and was trying to extricate her head from under the chair and had knocked her pin-on hair piece loose and sat back in her chair looking like a disheveled sheepdog.

"This punishment called death means separation from God, for all eternity. No more love. No more goodness of any kind." He looked around at the RangeMen again. "No more friendship. You won't be seeing your friends in Hell, boys. You'll be on your own. Forever, in solitary, with no food, no water, no guards to torment for entertainment.

"The question I came to answer today is not 'Where is Jackie?'. The question I'm here answer is 'Where are you going?'"

"You know, a lot of men think that it's cool to be planning on going to Hell. And you want to take as many as you can with you, right? Being a bad boy is sexy, isn't it?" he asked, aiming that question squarely at me, putting me right on the spot and forcing me, in front of all of my guys, to look him right in the eye.

"Christians are sissies," he said, imitating the taunt that was echoing in the back of our minds. "Sure, there are those martyrs who are brave enough to be tortured to death, but we think they're pretty stupid, right?" He was being sarcastic and we all knew it. "But, on the other hand, they're in heaven now, hanging out with the big man, because they said the magic word. Do you know the magic word?"

He looked at Lula. "Do you know the magic word, Lula?"

Lula was flat shaking in her shoes. "Please?" she asked, her fingers crossed, knowing that couldn't really be it.

"Yes!" he cried, pointing excitedly at Lula. She was so surprised to have pleased the Reverend with her answer that she jumped up from her seat like she was the next contestant on _The Price is Right_. Tank had to grab her and pull her back down.

"Are you going to spend eternity in Hell, in conscious torment, because you're too proud to say, 'Please…please, I want to go to Heaven, and I'm sorry?'" He groaned loudly. "Can't you just say you're sorry and mean it?" He looked beseechingly at the mourners, connecting with them one-by-one.

"And if you're sorry, what does that mean?" He looked right at Hal. "What does it mean?" Hal shrugged. The Reverend looked questioningly at many faces that reflected the same questioning look back at him. "It means you stop doing the crime. If you tell someone you're sorry for hitting them, you don't turn around and hit them again, do you?" That got a few snickers.

He looked right at Lester. "If you steal a car and the judge suspends your sentence and lets you go, you don't go back out on the street and steal another car, do you?"

Lester grinned and shrugged. "I probably would," he said. That got a few laughs.

"Then you weren't really sorry, were you? You just told the judge what he wanted to hear so you could get out of doing your time, right?" Lester nodded. "Time you actually deserved, right?" Lester shrugged again, still grinning. "And what happens when you get hauled back into court the next time?" Lester smiled knowingly, as if he'd been there before. "If you are brought before a good judge who is diligent in upholding the law, you will not be given any more chances. You'll have to serve your sentence, and it will be longer and harder than your original sentence." He looked around at the men. "There are varying degrees of torment in Hell, so if you're planning to go, you might keep that in mind as well."

He paced the pulpit again. "Anyone out there interested in a pardon from the governor?" He looked around. No one raised a hand, but he read the faces. Charlie was about to call out an answer, but Elena put her hand over his mouth.

"Know how you get one?" he asked, eyebrows raised. He waited, scanning the men with a slight smile. Everyone was waiting for a smart answer. What they got was a thunderous admonishment. "Jesus ain't no punchline!"

The fire and brimstone was about to rain down from the pulpit and everyone cowered in their seats. It was like a roller coaster ride that had just reached the top of the first drop. The words the followed came like a strong wind blowing their hair back.

"Jesus is God. He got off his comfy throne in Heaven and came down here, being born as a baby and living among us as a man. Do you think he was here on holiday?" he thundered. "No! He was here so we could talk to him and get our questions answered, but instead we tortured him to death, slowly. It took a full day!"

He looked around the room again at the Rangeman uniforms. "You ever been shot?" he asked Cal. Cal nodded. "You ever been shot?" he asked Bobby. Bobby nodded, appearing pretty proud of it. "Ever taken a bullet for someone else?" he asked. Bobby shook his head no but pointed to me.

"You ever take a bullet for someone else?" he asked me. I didn't move. Everyone knew I had. "Which did you prefer?" he asked me. "Did one wound hurt less than the other?" I didn't answer, just looked at him hard. "Hurt like hell both times, didn't it, but you were glad to do it when it saved someone you loved." He was planted in front of me, and he wasn't going to move on till I nodded, so I finally did.

"You're one tough man," he said to me. "A real man." He gave me a long, appraising look and then asked the room, "He's a real man, isn't he? We like that." There were hoots and hollers and sporadic applause.

"My Jesus is a real man!" he boomed down from the pulpit again, pounding his bible for emphasis. "He came here to show us what a real man is. He's the ultimate hero. He's the warrior who conquered death so he could grant you a pardon. He did it for you!" he said to the crowd before turning back to me.

"Ranger, I understand that you were shot multiple times while saving someone else from that same pain and almost certain death. You took it upon yourself. You sacrificed yourself. You had a choice, didn't you? You didn't have to do that. And that shooter, you could have took him. He didn't have the power to take your life unless you allowed him to. But you chose to allow it, didn't you? You made a decision to go into that room, unarmed, and you didn't try to stop him." I nodded. "That's exactly what Jesus did. No one took his life. He allowed it to be taken so that he could save us. And it was with just as much love that he did it."

A few heads turned as a gangly Latino woman with a platinum blonde wig under a large black hat, strutted down the opposite end aisle and sat behind Joe and Terry. You didn't have to be a genius to see that the person wearing the black dress with red roses and four-inch red heels was no woman. It was Luis, a male prostitute who was frequently on Vinnie's FTA list.

The Reverend didn't let the addition to his flock interrupt his well-prepared speech.

"If someone dies to save you, you honor their memory, don't you?" He looked around at the women in the crowd now. "If one of these men takes a bullet for you, you don't just say 'thank you' and then act like you don't know him next time you meet. You don't pretend to your family and friends that you've never met when you're both at the same party. You call him your friend, your partner, your best compadre, your brother." He looked right at Lester. "He's family, man. He would die for you. And if someone says something about him, you jump to defend him, don't you?"

Vinnie had spotted Luis, and was pointing him out to Joyce. Joyce rose to her feet, trying to get past Vinnie to the end aisle, but his arm and leg cast were making her progress next to impossible. Vinnie was adamant that she get Luis, who was clearly FTA, so Joyce started climbing over Vinnie. He shrieked in pain as she bumped his arm and shoulder, and he pushed her onto the floor. Everyone looked their way.

The Reverend wasn't done, so he banged his bible again, demanding attention. "Don't take my word for it. Read it for yourselves." He gestured out into the audience. "Every one of you found a bible in your chair when you got here. That bible is for you. If you need one in Spanish, there are a stack by the door, please feel free to grab one, two, three…as many as you want. I have more."

Lula had seen Joyce scrambling and Vinnie's red face zeroing in on Luis, and suddenly, Lula was up out her seat. "Oh, no you don't! That's my FTA, Barnhardt!" Lula jumped over Tank's lap and ran down the center aisle, intercepting Joyce as she ran up the center aisle. There was a bone on bone crunch as the two women hit mid-air and a nearby chairs were jarred as they crashed into the floor.

Lula was sitting on Joyce, and Joyce was struggling for air. Vinnie was hobbling around the end of the sanctuary. Luis had jumped up and was running to the back like a rat looking for an escape or a hidey hole. Five large Rangemen had positioned themselves across the double doors, blocking his way. Luis ran around in a frantic dance, waiving his long, painted nails as he clicked and clopped around in the heels, which showed off his much-too-muscular legs.

Luis was running into dead ends at every turn as Rangemen were standing and blocking his path. Tank was trying to pull Lula off of Joyce, who was turning purple, and Steph and I had followed, leaving the path clear along the end aisle. Luis saw his chance, and took it, running full speed toward the front of the sanctuary.

Suddenly there was a click and whir, and Luis was flying, then falling, face down in the end aisle. Charlie had heard him coming and had hit the button expanding his telescoping walking stick, and had tripped Luis at the last second. Quick as a flash, Charlie was on him. Luis struggled, kicking and swearing, but Charlie had him pinned. Elena was standing, too stunned to move. Steph jumped the row of folding chairs, grabbed the handcuffs off Elena's belt, and cuffed Luis. Charlie hauled him to his feet, and handed him over to Lula and Tank who had just come up the aisle behind him.

"That's my skip, Vinnie!" Lula told him. "You can't go giving my skips to Joyce like that!"

"I don't care who brings him in, as long as I am making money," Vinnie told her, hobbling over.

"Well, I care," Luis said, and he kicked Vinnie in the nuts as hard as he could with his pointy red shoe. Vinnie crashed to the floor. "You better treat these girls right, you little ferret."

The funeral was clearly over, but the Reverend still had one line to deliver, so he cleared his throat loudly and delivered it with gusto, as if nothing had transpired.

"And don't tell me you don't read," he boomed. "I know you boys can read military manuals and you can learn how to use guns and ammo to defend yourselves. You better be reading this manual. It's the only one that will truly save your life."

Everyone looked up, confused again. "Okay, I'm done!" He threw up his hands.

Charlie grinned up at him. "Tough crowd."

_To be continued..._


	32. Chapter 32 Steph's POV Ranger & Steph

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Partial spoiler for "When Crickets Cry".**

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena and Rev. Percy Johnson created by AutumnDreaming and Charlie created by Charles Martin in the novel "When Crickets Cry"._

When I returned to the sanctuary after helping Lula load Luis into her car, I found Ranger and Charlie talking in the corner. Elena was talking to Morelli, and Terry was nowhere around. I couldn't stand to look at Morelli. If I entertained any thoughts at all about Morelli, I'd probably grab a gun and shoot off parts that I might be sorry about later. It would certainly cost me when Bella cursed me with "The Eye". So, I walked on.

"What's up?" I said to Ranger.

"Charlie was wondering if we would chaperone a date for him and Elena tonight."

"Chaperone? Are you kidding?" I laughed.

"No, not kidding," Charlie answered, quite serious. "I don't think it would be appropriate for us to be alone together."

"You're serious? You want us go to on, what…a double date?" I asked, wondering if he was joking again.

"Yes, exactly." Charlie nodded. He wasn't joking.

I looked up at Ranger. "Well?"

"Fine with me," he said. "I know a nice place outside of town." I raised my eyebrows at him. He leaned into me, his lips brushing my ear. "Maybe we'll finally have a chance to talk."

"You figure I won't kill you in a crowded restaurant?" I whispered back.

"Something like that," he said, pulling back, but he wasn't smiling. He was rather serious. Yikes. Was he talking about having THAT talk? Now? After all these days that we'd been dancing around each other, avoiding being alone together. I got a spine tingle.

"Sure," I squeaked. I cleared my throat. "Sure, sounds great."

"I don't care where we go, as long as I get to drive," Charlie said, grinning as he turned towards Elena's voice. His cane was still extended, and he tapped his way slowly to Elena.

After a few minutes, Morelli left and Charlie appeared to be asking Elena to go to dinner with us. She looked over at me, and I gave her a smile and little finger wave so she knew I was going. She sort of glared at me, and she seemed to be trying to get out of going, but Charlie wasn't going take no for an answer. He turned on the charm, and she ended up laughing in spite of herself. We were definitely going.

Ranger and Charlie picked us up at Elena's, and we drove to a glittery 30's style dinner club near Point Pleasant. They guys were dressed to kill in their black suits. Elena was wearing a frosty, forest green two-piece outfit with long sheer sleeves and a long flowing skirt. It really suited her. She'd done her hair and makeup this evening, and was very attractive. I was sorry Charlie couldn't see her, but she smelled great. I was wearing a rather sexy little black dress…not the one I'd shown Ranger once and worn for Morelli later. This was a new one, never worn for anyone. I had been warned by Elena that Charlie took regular dance lessons and that the guys were likely to take us dancing, so I wore more practical heels so I wouldn't break my feet.

The drive gave us time to talk, and I was curious about Charlie. He'd asked Ranger to describe what Elena looked like when they picked us up. It was a little embarrassing, but then again, in a way, he was appreciating what she'd done to look nice for their date, and it would have been much too forward for him to reach out and touch her. He seemed comfortable, somehow, in his blind condition. His sense of humor put us all at ease. We felt like we could say anything, and Charlie wouldn't misconstrue it as rude or insensitive.

In the car and at dinner, conversation started and ended with Charlie. He told us about growing up with his big sister, who had a hole in her heart. His best friend, who he now calls his brother, was her childhood sweetheart and later her husband. Charlie lost his sight in a tragic accident while trying to save his sister's life. He had fallen, hitting his head so hard he'd detached both retinas and was permanently blind. Despite their heroic efforts, she'd passed away. Her husband couldn't cope with her loss and disappeared. He wasn't heard from by anyone for months. Charlie had lost his sister, his sight, and his best friend on the same day. He didn't mention a fiancee. Regardless, the life he had been living had abruptly stopped existing. He had gone to a school for the blind, and now, six years later, he had his brother back, he had a house on a lake he loved, a guide dog named Georgia for company, and he had learned what it really meant to live. And now, perhaps he had Elena.

After dinner, Charlie asked Elena to dance. He hadn't really touched her or even held her hand until then. They rose and he offered his arm again and they disappeared onto the dance floor where a slow song was just beginning to play. The music was jazz, the atmosphere was dark and sparkling like a starry night. It was definitely romantic, and I didn't want to know how Ranger had found this place.

"So, we're finally alone," I said to Ranger. "What did you want to talk about?"

He didn't smile, and he didn't look at me. He was watching Elena and Charlie. Charlie held her away from him at a respectable distance, and she was smiling, studying his ruggedly handsome features. They didn't appear to be talking.

"You've been avoiding me," I said.

"Babe." He looked down at the table. He didn't offer any kind of explanation, so I blew out a sigh. "What's up with Morelli? Did he get custody of Achilles?"

"Yeah, he's got him at home. Elena told me. Morelli left a voice mail thanking her."

"How's Bob taking it?"

"You were right. Bob's already teaching him bad manners. Apparently Achilles and Bob are bonding by eating Morelli's couch. Bob likes the chewy cushions and Achilles likes the crunchy wooden center."

Ranger's mouth twitched, but he didn't laugh.

"Can I ask you a question?" I asked.

"Babe." He knew what was coming.

"How would you define our relationship?" I asked. He had his stone face on, but it was slipping a little. "I'm serious," I said. "I want to know."

"Where to begin…" he sighed, leaning back in his chair, trying to relax and having a hard time of it.

"Start with day one," I suggested.

"Henry Higgins and Eliza Doolittle?" he chuckled, remembering. "Did I really say that?" he asked, shaking his head. "How ironic."

In the movie _My Fair Lady_, Professor Henry Higgins accepts a bet. He's supposed to take an uncouth flower-girl from the street and transform her into a woman who can be mistaken for nobility. Higgins does manage the transformation, but it's only appearance. The real change happens when Eliza realizes her own power and becomes an independent woman, leaving Higgins to marry a young aristocrat. Only after she's gone does Higgins realize he can't bear to live without her, and he must make amends to win her back.

"You really did change me," I said.

"You changed me too." He was serious again. "Day one, I wanted you the moment I saw you. If I didn't, I'd have said 'no'. I thought it would be fun."

"That was before you got shot," I reminded him.

"Yeah," he agreed.

"Was that the only reason you helped me?"

Ranger stared up into the starry lights in the ceiling over the dance floor. "In those early days, there was lust. I wouldn't say it was love. I enjoyed the pursuit. I chased you, kissed you, and then let you go when you pushed me away, thinking I could have you anytime I wanted. I liked playing with you. I told myself I enjoyed it too much to end it."

"The thrill of the hunt?" I asked. "That's all I was to you?"

"I told myself that." He looked down at the tablecloth. "I was all set to catch you and to have you, a few times, but each time you ended up going home with Morelli. Then, my pride got in the way. I convinced myself I had tossed you back because I was a good guy and I liked you. I didn't want to take advantage of you, and Morelli could offer you more." He paused. "And, at that point, I was falling in love with you."

"You made it clear that you didn't want a relationship with me," I said.

"I did. I lied. And I'm sorry." He finally looked me in the eye. His expression was sad, but he was holding back.

"Then what happened?"

"That night?" He asked, pausing.

"Yeah, that night. What changed?" I pressed.

"Shortly before that night, I had stopped hunting you, and it was then that I realized I still got a thrill from you. Just being around you gave me the thrill. I thought maybe it had never really been the chase. Maybe it had been you all along."

"So, that night was just a touch and see? Your own little experiment?" I asked, stunned.

"Something like that."

"But you sent me back to Morelli. Why? Because it didn't feel the way you wanted to?" I had to know, even if it ruined the memory of that night forever. I just had to know the truth. Face it. Deal with it.

"I never saw it that way," he said. "I admit, I laid out some rules that I shouldn't have. You declined. You didn't want to keep seeing me under those conditions. Then I thought we agreed, _together_, that you needed to repair your relationship with Morelli because he gave you what you wanted and I couldn't." He gave a slight grimace. "Because I didn't," he corrected.

"Ranger, what was I supposed to think? What did you expect me to do?"

"You didn't even argue," he whispered, clearly hurt…showing me for the first time how much that night had meant to him, and how the aftermath had changed the course of our relationship. "You fight for things you want. You can't stand not getting your way." He looked away, checking on Elena and Charlie for a moment, and then his eyes met mine again. "You didn't try to persuade me to bend or break or change the rules." He took a deep breath. "Stephanie," he said, leaning towards me and taking my face in both his hands, "I wanted you to want me enough to fight for me, to be with me." His eyes were open windows to his soul, and I held my breath. "I thought, maybe you didn't want to be with me. That I had made a mistake. What else could I think?"

I know I wasn't looking that attractive with my mouth hanging open, but I couldn't get it to close. He leaned in and kissed me, softly on each lip, and I slowly managed to kiss his him back once before he pulled away.

"You went back to Morelli so easily," he said sadly, looking away again.

"I was crushed. I thought you didn't want me," I told him, defensively.

"I know that now. Me too, I guess."

"So, we started keeping our distance," I said.

"Yes. I couldn't let you go, but I didn't want to feel that way again. I tried to go back to enjoying that little thrill around you. I still get it, Babe."

"Me too," I admitted. His mouth twitched with satisfaction at that.

"Then, I almost lost you. I thought I had lost you." He leaned forward again, taking my hand in both of his, our arms still resting comfortably on the table.

"I thought _I _lost _you_," I told him. "I can't stop thinking about that moment you were shot. You were shot so many times. And there was so much blood. And you didn't wake up. I keep remembering what it felt like. That was the first time I realized what you had been trying to protect me from, and that's when I forgave you for holding me away from you. Then Joe was there again, comforting me and taking care of me, and I just went with him. Just like always."

"I know, and I couldn't help it. I couldn't do anything at the time, and I was just glad you were safe." He squeezed my hand. "The right time never seemed to present itself after that."

"So, now what?" I asked.

"It isn't too late. We have a chance to do things right this time."

"What would you like to be different?" I asked. He'd been thinking about it, I could tell.

"For one, I'm glad you're not living with either me or Morelli, and that you're not alone. I'm quite satisfied with your living arrangement for the first time since we've met." He put my hand to his cheek, leaned close, and whispered against my lips. "I don't want you to go back to Morelli, not ever."

"What else?" I asked, nearly breathless.

"I've always pursued you sexually. Then I was actually enough of a hypocrite to be angry when you saw me the same way."

"Funny," I said, "I thought the same thing about you."

He looked surprised at that, and took a moment to think about it. "I don't like how that feels between us."

"Me either," I agreed. "I love you, Ranger."

"I love you, too, Babe." He gave my hand a little squeeze. "And I never want you to do another distraction job. Not ever." He sounded apologetic. "When I asked you to do that, it was part of the game I was playing. I wanted to see what you were willing to do for me, what I could make you do, how far you'd go."

"You mean, it was a test?"

"Sort of," he groaned.

I'd always been proud of my work as a distraction, and I had to admit I'd really enjoyed seeing his reaction to my outfits. But it had made me feel a little dirty and maybe even used.

"Did I pass?" I asked.

"No, Babe. We both failed. Miserably." He looked sad again. "It cost us. We lost respect for each other. It was just one more thing tearing us apart. Because I didn't say anything about the men you paraded around in front of, you didn't say anything about the women who came on to me at the strip club. I wanted you to be jealous, but you weren't. You just let it slide. And that's my fault. You never should have been used for bait. Morelli was right about that, and it'll never happen again. I don't need to catch the bad guys if it means putting you in danger, Babe. Elena was right. There are other ways, other times, and you are more important. I was too confident in my ability to be your hero. So many times I wasn't there to save you. I'm sorry."

I was floored. "Ranger," I whispered, but he continued.

"We've been friends, co-workers, partners, employer-employee, lovers, but we've never been connected in a legitimate relationship. It's been perceived by those around us, but we've tried to keep it deniable. I don't want it to be deniable anymore."

"What are you saying?" I asked.

"You're my Babe. You've always been my Babe. And I'll tell anyone who asks me."

"Ranger?"

"If Morelli, or your family, or Lula or Tank or anyone else asks you about us, you tell them we are a couple. Tell them in any words you choose but don't deny it ever again, okay?"

"Yeah," I agreed, completely stunned. Not long ago, Ranger had off-handedly defined couple as two people having clothes in each other's closet. He'd used that analogy to indicate that Morelli and I were a couple because he had socks and underwear at my apartment. As it turned out, I had half a wardrobe in Ranger's closet. And I probably still did. Morelli's underwear was definitely missing from Elena's house, and it was going to stay that way.

Ranger tugged on my hand. "I think I owe you a dance," he said, leading me to the dance floor. He held me close, and I held him closer. "I love you, Babe," he whispered in my ear. I raised my face to him, and he kissed me lightly.

"I love you, Ranger," I whispered against his lips. I felt him smile.

The Reverend Percy Johnson had been right. The angels were celebrating in Heaven tonight.

_To be continued..._


	33. Chapter 33 Steph's POV Bombshell Shocked

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena and Rev. Percy Johnson created by AutumnDreaming and Charlie created by Charles Martin in the novel "When Crickets Cry"._

My cell rang at 4:30 a.m. I'd only been in bed about two hours and my brain was a delicious mush of jelly after dancing the night away in Ranger's arms. I heard the ringing, but I couldn't find the phone. It stopped, and I lay back down. As soon as my eyes closed, it started ringing again. Damn. I got up and looked around in my bag until I found it.

"Yo," I answered, sounding groggy.

"Steph, it's Lula. You up?"

"No! It's 4:30 in the morning!" I told her. "Can't this wait?"

"No, it can't wait. I've been out with some of my old girlfriends. We went out for a few drinks after the funeral," she said, slurring her words a little and finishing with a hiccup. "It turns out some woman's been out here on Stark pushing some 'relocation project', promising to pay to move the girls to another city, get them new clothes, an apartment, etc."

"Sounds too good to be true," I agreed.

"And it is, too. No one's heard from any of the girls since they left."

"Does Tank know?" I asked.

"Yeah, he's been here and gone," she said, sounding a little exasperated.

"Well, if Tank knows, then Ranger knows."

"Yo' Batman ain't the end all, be all of the Burg, you know. We gotta do something, now, before more of my homies disappear or end up on the slab like Jackie did." She was drunk, and she was adamant, and she didn't have any kind of plan that would be effective at 4:30 in the morning.

"Lula," I said, interrupting her rant. "There is nothing we can do at this hour. Go home. Get some sleep. I promise, we will talk it over and come up with a plan in the morning."

"Say what?" she replied.

"Go to sleep, Lula," I said, and I disconnected.

* * *

Elena and I discussed Lula's information over breakfast. Bagels and fruit had suddenly gained appeal since last night. I didn't even feel the need for a Tastykake.

"Morelli has Achilles at his place," Elena said, thinking out loud. "If he's feeling up to it, I know some places we could check out with the dogs. We'd just be two women out for a walk. Maybe Achilles will point on someone or somewhere, anything that would give us a lead."

"Good idea, I agreed."

I still had a key to Morelli's house, but I didn't feel comfortable using it.

When we got to the office, I called the bonds office to talk to Lula, but Connie told me she had been too hung over to come in. No kidding.

Elena called Morelli. He gave us permission to take Bob and Achilles, and suggested that when we did, we should pick up some of my things that he had boxed up in the garage. It would make it look more in line with the break up in case his house – or more likely I - was being watched.

My stomach turned in an unpleasant flip-flop when I thought of Morelli boxing up my stuff. My clothes, my bathroom supplies…my cookie jar.

Elena and I were just about to leave when Ranger knocked on the side of our cubicle.

"I'm heading out," he said. He was dressed in his usual uniform, ready for work. "What are you two doing today?"

"Tank told you about Lula's lead?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"You said Elena and I might check out some places where the homeless women and prostitutes were hanging out. Maybe we could get a description."

"The cops can get a description," he said. He didn't like the idea anymore.

"Have they got one?" Elena asked him, rather pointedly.

"Not yet," he admitted. There was something unspoken being transmitted between them that I knew I was missing out on.

"Well," she said, "I'm not the police."

"True," Ranger agreed. "I don't like it, but you're right. Promise me you'll stick together, and you'll take your guns with you."

"We got permission from Morelli to take Achilles and Bob with us," Elena told him. He looked at me. "I called him," Elena assured him. "We're also going to pick up the last of Steph's things. Morelli won't be there."

"I'll pick up my gun. It's still in the cookie jar," I promised.

Ranger looked to Elena. "Make sure she puts bullets in it," Ranger ordered.

Elena looked confused, but nodded. "Uh, okay, I will."

"Keep me posted, and check in with Tank once in awhile. Take the Beemer. I don't want anyone making Elena's car if we can help it. Keys are in the control room." Ranger leaned over my chair and kissed me. "Be careful, Babe."

"Who, me?" I said, trying to sound innocent.

"Yes, you." He knew me too well. And he was gone.

I drove us to Morelli's. We loaded the neatly packed boxes into the trunk, I grabbed the two leashes from the hooks by the back door, and we loaded the dogs into the back seat. They weren't doing anything good to the fine leather, but Ranger said to take the Beemer, so I guessed he wasn't going to mind. He'd never been bothered when I destroyed his cars before.

Elena directed me to a park downtown, and we got out, locked up and headed down the walking path. I took Bob and Elena took Achilles, of course. They were both pulling at the leashes for the first mile. But after each had taken care of some business, they were lazily walking beside us, and I suspected that in another mile they might be walking behind us. I hoped we would find a lead soon, because I wasn't carrying Bob back to the car. No way.

We neared an overpass, and Elena lead us over the grass and up the dirt rise until we were walking into a cave-like concrete recess between the overpass and the drainage ditch below. There were sleeping bags laid out or rolled up in various places, shopping bags containing people's belongings were hanging from bolts or bits of rebar that stuck through the sides of the overpass. Chunks of concrete and rocks had been used to mark some boundaries, sort of the way children will make a tape line across their bedroom when they are forced to share and aren't getting along.

Elena and I were both in street clothes, hair in ponytails under our hats, and she'd done the blackberry bit that morning too. She walked up to a teenage girl and started talking to her. I was hanging back while Bob was sniffing around at the edge of the enclosure. Hey, someone needed to be the look-out, right?

Achilles was sniffing around too, and he started pulling at the leash. Elena followed him, and he started digging frantically beneath one of the bedding rolls. Elena was asking the girl who the bedding belonged to.

"Teenage boy, probably about sixteen. Been working the streets for about two years. Goes by Dundee."

"Dundee?" I asked.

"Like Crocodile Dundee," she said. "He ain't really Australian, but he puts on the accent 'cuz it gets him more business. Customers think he's exotic. Gives him an edge."

"Someone might think he's less likely to be missed or traced by the authorities if they believe he's not an American," Elena thought out loud. "When did you see him last?"

The girl shrugged. "About two days ago."

We thanked her for the information, and walked back to the path, heading towards the car, and called Ranger.

"Yo," he answered.

"We have another small lead," I said, and told him about Dundee. I was finishing the update when we approached the car, and I saw a flash of orange-red hair. Joyce.

"Ranger, we have company," I said.

"Anyone I know?" he asked.

"Joyce." I told him.

"Joyce?" he mused. "Want me to shoot her?"

"Not necessary. I think I can shake her, assuming I'm not bugged again." Not long ago, Joyce had managed to slip a fake lipstick tracking device into my purse. I thought it was Ranger's, but his tracking device had been a ball-point pen. Some days, it's hard for me to keep track of who's tracking me.

"Let me know if you need help," he said, and we hung up.

"I'm driving," I said to Elena as we loaded up the dogs.

"What does she want?" Elena asked as we pulled away from the curb.

"Have you ever seen a flock of birds in the yard after a rain?" I asked. Elena nodded. "You know how there's always a big bossy bird that just stands there, watching and waiting for the hungry little bird to scratch and dig up a nice, juicy worm. And then, the big bad bird pecks and squawks at the little bird until it gets the worm. Joyce is that big bird, and she's after my next juicy worm. She's probably still mad about losing out on Lula's worm," I said, referring to Luis.

"Can you ditch her?" she asked.

"I'm going to try," I said. I had a route through the Burg that had never failed me before. We lost Joyce, and I drove back to the downtown area, and we stopped on a residential side street much closer to an underpass. We got the dogs out and started walking along a bike path.

We struck out. No one was home, and Achilles didn't hit on anything under the bridge. We were just headed back to the car when we saw Joyce driving down the street towards us.

"How did she find us?" Elena wondered.

"Maybe she won't see us if we hide under here," I suggested, we backed up under the cover of the overpass.

No such luck. Joyce got out of her car and started straight for us. I had my attention on Joyce, and was barely aware of Elena bending down and digging around in some trash nearby.

"Give me Bob", she said, pulling on his leash. "Will he go home to Morelli if I let him go?" she asked.

"Sure," I said, and before I had a chance to add "eventually", she had unclipped his leash and he and Achilles went bolting down the street in the opposite direction from Joyce.

"Shit!" I said under my breath. "What did you do that for?"

She didn't have time to answer because Joyce was already on us.

"Well, well," she crooned. "What do we have here? Slumming it, Stephanie?"

"What do you want, Joyce?" I asked, angry and irritated.

"I'm just here to meet a friend," she said, as if something was really funny. I got a creeping chill up my spine and my Spidey sense went through the roof.

"What friend?" I asked.

"Me," a cool female voice said behind me.

Elena and I both turned to see Jean Ellen Burrows standing directly behind us. She hit Elena with a stun gun. I didn't have time to react before I heard that familiar sizzle in my head. I'd been stunned by Joyce Barnhardt, again.

When we woke up, we were sitting in the BMW. We were parked in a mostly empty parking lot. I looked around. There was a sign reading Trenton Thunder Baseball Stadium. We were parked right by the river. Elena was in the passenger seat, and I was behind the wheel in the driver's seat. We were sitting up, and we couldn't move. My hands were duct taped to the wheel, and Elena's were taped to the door handle and the seat belt that was fastened around her. My seat belt was on too. A cell phone was sitting open on the dash in front of us.

"Oh, I think they're awake," a woman's voice cooed from the phone.

"How nice." It was Jean Ellen. We were on speakerphone. I looked up and saw a cell phone on the dash.

"What's going on?" Elena asked, still groggy, trying to pull her arms free of the tape.

My feet weren't moving either. They were taped to the pedals, and Elena's were taped together and the tape wrapped around the bottom of the seat somehow.

"Oh, I'm just about to eliminate the competition," the first woman said. I knew the voice, but I couldn't place her.

"Is this business or personal?" I asked, searching for a clue.

"Both." Jean Ellen said.

"What's the business?" I asked.

"You have poked your nose in my business for the last time," the first woman said. "If I thought there was any profit in it for me, I'd happily include you on our export list…and I thought about it. It put a smile on my face just thinking about it. But, on the personal side, I think I'd rather you were dead."

My blood ran cold. I was suddenly fully awake, at least, enough to feel an appropriate level of terror.

"The only real question was how to do it," Jean Ellen added. "I knew that if you simply vanished, Ranger and Joe would never stop looking for you. So, I'm afraid we're going to have to do it this way. I don't think anyone will suspect anything. I mean, you're always blowing up cars and burning down buildings. It's about time your luck ran out, don't you think?"

"Joe will know that I didn't blow myself up, and he'll find out who did this, Jean Ellen. Think about what you're doing!"

"Oh, we've thought about it, a lot," Jean Ellen said. "That's why Barnhardt is going with you."

I turned around and looked in the back seat. Sure enough, there was Joyce, duct taped and seat belted just like Elena and me.

"It's such a shame that a high school rivalry should end in bloodshed, don't you think?" Jean Ellen asked sarcastically.

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"Well, apparently Joyce has been insanely jealous of you all these years. When you sent her to Vinnie's beach house to humiliate her, that was the final straw. Harry the Hammer sure did a number on Vinnie for that one. Well, after that, she decided that no one would suspect you of being murdered if she dropped a bomb in your car. I mean, everyone expects you to get blown up sooner or later. Boom. But somehow, the bomb went off before she could get clear," Jean Ellen laughed. "Pathetic. Neither of you can ever do anything right."

"You can't be serious!" I yelled.

"Of course I can," Jean Ellen said calmly. "I'm dead serious."

"What are you getting out of this?" I asked.

"I'm getting even with Ranger, of course."

"For what?" I was wriggling in my seat, trying to stretch the conversation, and the tape around my wrists, as long as possible.

"For what? Are you kidding?" Jean Ellen gave a humorless laugh. "If he thinks I'm playing second fiddle any longer, he's gravely mistaken. He'll make me a partner, or I'll take over Rangeman. I'm not a two-bit amateur he can toy with. He underestimates me. And if he continues to do so, I'm going to show him what an advantage he's given me. I'm going to take everything he has, everything he loves, one by one, starting with you."

"You won't win him back this way," I cried. "We can still talk this out. Maybe he doesn't understand how you feel because you've never told him. Have you talked to him?"

"You know, I think I will. After you're gone." She made a little kissy sound through the phone. "Goodbye, Stephanie Plum." And she disconnected.

"Shit!" I said, struggling to get free.

Elena was strong, and she was stretching the tape on her ankles. She got one foot slipped out of her boot. The tape was stuck to the leather. "They took my knife," she groaned, but she didn't stop wiggling. She got her sock off, and using her bare foot, she started working the loose boot free of the tape. She used her bare toes to manipulate the boot. She had laces on the boot, but it also had a zippered side, so she could slip the boots off and on without lacing them up each time. She pulled her other foot free, worked that sock off, and used her toes to unzip the freed boot.

"I'm going to hold the boot as best I can, Steph. Move the steering wheel and try to cut the tape loose by rubbing it against the zipper."

It was much easier said than done. I pulled hard and she pressed the boot against the tape with her toes, her right shoulder digging into the door. I got one hand loose and freed the other hand.

"Get me loose!" Elena begged, pulling at the tape on her hands. I grabbed the boot and ripped through the duct tape on her left hand with the zipper. She got her right free, and put her boots back on while I got my feet loose.

No one could see us in the car because the windows were tinted. Even if anyone had been around, they probably wouldn't have been able to hear us either. This was a Rangeman vehicle. The windows were bullet resistant. The keys were in the ignition, but I was afraid the car would explode if I turned the key or tried to open a door. I looked at Elena.

"It can't be an ignition switch or the door," she said. "We were tied up. How did they expect us to set it off?"

I turned they key to auxiliary, but nothing happened. Either the battery was dead or it wasn't hooked up.

I tried my door. It wouldn't open. Elena's didn't open either. The windows were electric. The door locks were electric. We were trapped.

I grabbed the cell phone and tried to call Ranger, but the phone didn't allow outgoing calls. I tried 911. All cell phones are supposed to be able to call 911, right? Well, not this one. I tossed the phone back onto the dash and tried not to panic.

"Let's assess the situation," I suggested, trying to stay calm. "We are trapped in the car. We can't get out. We are supposed to be immobile. If Jean Ellen was going to blow us up with a remote detonator, she would have done it by now. So the bomb must be on a timer."

"Okay, so where's the bomb?"

We both looked over our shoulders at Joyce. Sure enough, there was a large lump in her jacket pocket.

We both scrambled over the seat. I carefully removed the black plastic package wrapped in duct tape from Joyce's jacket while Elena started freeing Joyce.

"Jean Ellen's probably watching, so if we do get out of the car, we have to move quick," I said. Jean Ellen was very good at what she did, or so I had been told by Ranger. Well, I was finally going to prove that I was better.

When Joyce was free of the tape, we rolled her unceremoniously onto the floor of the back seat and laid the seats down on top of her. I handed the bomb to Elena and climbed into the trunk area.

I started kicking at the back corners of the trunk as hard as I could, but my foot wasn't doing any real damage.

"What the are you doing?" Elena asked.

"I read that if you get locked in a trunk, you can kick out the taillights and wave your arms out the hole so someone will see you and call the police." I was already gasping for air from the exertion. "If I can make a big enough hole, we can slingshot the bomb out of the car."

"I don't think so," Elena said, trying as hard not to laugh as she was not to panic. "There is too much supporting sheet metal on a car this nice. I don't think that will work."

I was suddenly wishing I was still driving an old beater like the Chevy Nova. I could have kicked a hole in the floor big enough for us to crawl out of. The windows and doors wouldn't have been electric either.

"See if you can find the emergency release for the trunk," she suggested.

I couldn't find it at first. Nothing was glowing. It was too dark and I couldn't see. "Give me the cell phone off the dash," I told her. I opened it and used the light from the display to see the broken cord of the trunk release. The handle had been ripped off and the loop end was hanging down behind some sheet metal. I wouldn't have seen it at all, but all my kicking had broken loose the plastic clips holding the interior on. I pulled the broken pieces aside. "I might be able to get hold of it if we can find something small to use as a hook."

We looked around. As Elena was crawling over to the front seat to look up front, I pulled one seat back up and checked Joyce. As I was patting her down, looking for something I could use, my life was briefly flashed before my eyes. I thought, _Please, God, don't let me die looking at Joyce Barhardt_.

Joyce had always been proud she'd filled out so much more than I had. Ironically, I was the one who ended up working as a lingerie buyer. CLICK. A light went on.

"I got an idea," I called to Elena. "I'll bet Joyce is wearing an underwire bra."

"So?" she asked, looking at me like I was crazy.

"I could use the wire to get hold of the trunk release." I waved my hand urgently, beckoning her towards me. "Come here and see if you can get one loose."

"Oh, okay." She started to climb back over the seat, then stopped and looked at me.

"Why don't you get it, you're already there."

"No way! I'm not touching those things!" I moved back down into the trunk, away from Joyce.

"Oh, honestly!" Elena complained as she jumped over the seat and took my place on top of Joyce and went to work removing one of the wires. "Here we are about to get blown up, and you're worried about modesty?"

"No, I'm worried about getting Joyce cooties!"

"Get over it!" She handed me the silver wire and I bent the end and started fishing for the end of the latch release. "I got it!" I pulled hard, and the truck released. I jumped out and Elena handed me the bomb.

I was only few feet from the river, so I ran to the edge and threw the package as hard as I could. I expected to hear a splash, but instead I heard a metallic "ting".

"Hey!" a man yelled.

I ran to the edge and looked over. An old man in a flannel shirt and fisherman's hat was sitting in a flat-bottom boat with his fishing pole in one hand and the bomb in the other.

"Throw it! Throw it!" I yelled. "It's a bomb!"

I didn't have to tell him twice. He stood up and pitched it as far as he could, which didn't turn out to be all that far. He was pretty old. There was a second that I thought we were free and clear, but then we heard a muffled "whomp" and the man was showered as water erupted from the spot where the bomb had dropped. Fish were falling all around his boat and bobbing belly up on the surface of the water. He sat down, grabbing the sides of the boat, riding out the waves.

"Sorry!" I yelled down to him.

"That's okay. Nice day for it!" he yelled, getting out his net. You had to like old farts like him. They didn't get angry about every little thing that went wrong. They'd learned to roll with the punches.

I ran back to the car. Elena had the hood up, and was trying to reconnect the battery.

"I need some tools!" she yelled to me.

"We don't have any," I answered, trying to catch my breath. That's when I saw the black limousine rounding the corner and heading our way, fast.

"The battery cable is here, but it's been loosened and it's not making good connection. I need something metal about this big," she said, holding up her fingers in a circle to show the size of the battery terminal. I looked at the circle and I felt the ring in my pocket. "Try this," I told her, handing her the engagement ring Morelli had given me. She looked at me to be sure I was serious, and then glanced at the speeding limo and got to work. The ring was a snug fit on the terminal, and she pressed the connector over the ring. We knew it was going to scratch, but better scratch the ring than scratch us.

She slammed the hood down and we jumped in. I turned the key, and we took off. We passed the limo and the chase was on. They lost a little time turning around in the parking lot, but not much. We went tearing down Lamberton. It was a straight shot till we got to Lolar Street. That's when I realized Jean Ellen was covering all bets when she had cut the brake lines. They were spongy, and I knew I'd just used them up slowing down to take the corner.

"No brakes!" I yelled.

Elena put my seat belt on me and quickly snapped hers. Joyce was still laying in the back on the floor. We were quickly approaching Hamilton, and the light had been green too long to hope we were going to make it. We braced for impact, but made it through. I was hoping to pick up a Trenton cop, maybe my friend Eddie Gazarra would be on duty and would see us. But, no such luck. There's never a cop around when you need one.

I slowed us up enough to take the curve onto South Broad, and we made it all the way to East Park Ave before we got cornered by traffic. I laid on the horn, and started weaving, checking the mirror. The limo had been forced to wait behind other cars at a light, and we had a pretty good lead. I was gaining quickly on a family mini-van in the left lane, so I swung into the right, and realized too late that we were in trouble. I had a choice between nudging the mini-van into oncoming traffic – not an option – or plowing head on into the back of a double-parked refrigerated delivery truck. I stomped on the brakes, using all they had left, and downshifted into 2nd gear and pulled the emergency brake. I saw Elena brace for impact. Then I closed my eyes and grit my teeth.

The impact jolted my door open. I popped my seat belt and fell out of the car and onto the pavement. There was no way I could stand up. I opened my eyes, and tried to stand, but I kept slipping back down. I saw my hands, and they were covered with red. Something was in my hand. It was pink and covered with red liquid. I knew it was a body part that was no longer attached. My first fear was that it something of mine. My second fear was that it wasn't. "Oh, God!" I thought. And then, I think I passed out.

"Stephanie, get up and help me!" Elena was screaming at me as she tried to wrench Joyce out of the back seat.

I sat up. We had hit a seafood delivery truck. The back of the truck was open, and a couple dozen crates of shrimp cocktail had broken open on and around our car. I had rolled in garbage so many times you'd think I would be getting used to it. The smell alone should have been a dead giveaway.

I could hear that the engine of the BMW was still running, and I thought I should probably shut it off. But I was also keenly aware that the limo was only a few seconds behind us, so I didn't mess with it.

I tossed the shrimp I was holding, jumped up and grabbed Joyce's legs while Elena brought the rest of her out of the car. We started running, which wasn't easy since we were dragging a very limp Joyce.

"This isn't working!" I cried.

"Drop the feet. Grab an arm!"

I did, and we dragged Joyce behind us as we ran. In addition to cocktail sauce, I suddenly realized I was smelling another familiar odor. Gasoline. _Oh, no,_ I thought. But it was too late. The car exploded, and shrimp and red sauce was splattered all over vehicles and storefront windows for half a block.

We turned around to look at the damage just long enough to see a long black limousine rounding the corner, only a few yards away. We dropped Joyce and started running for real this time. I heard the pop of a gun. Elena went down first. I knew she'd been shot. And then I felt a wallop, felt a surge of pain in my back, and I couldn't breathe.

Then everything went black.

_To be continued…_


	34. Chapter 34 Ranger's POV Feed The Cat

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena and Rev. Percy Johnson created by AutumnDreaming and Charlie created by Charles Martin in the novel "When Crickets Cry"._

I was nearly to Morelli's office when my cell buzzed. It was Tank.

"The Beemer just went off grid," he said.

This sort of news wasn't entirely unexpected. Stephanie had done this to me so many times. I assumed it was just another vehicle destroyed. I expected to find her sitting on the curb covered in garbage with two dogs trying to lick her clean.

I turned around in the cop shop parking lot and drove of the address Tank had given me. Within a few minutes, Morelli was on my tail with his Kojak light on the roof, as usual. We pulled up to the scene. Past the gawkers standing around on the street, we could see the smoking remains of the BMW Steph and Elena had taken from Rangeman that morning.

"Yours?" Morelli asked as we approached.

"It _was_," I groaned, scanning the crowd but not finding Steph or Elena. I didn't see or hear any dogs either.

The fire was already out. After peeling back a trip of mangled roof, Morelli and I looked down inside hollowed out carcass of the vehicle. There was no scent of burnt hair, no remains inside, human or animal. My heart started beating again.

"Any ideas?" I asked.

"None," Morelli answered, looking up and down the street at the mess. "But they were definitely here."

I had to agree. Steph's fingerprints were all over this mess. "They couldn't have gotten far."

Morelli worked the street, talking to witnesses, while I called Steph. No answer. I tried Elena. No answer. I called Tank to track the phones. No signals. I had no way to find them.

Morelli returned, and we walked back to our vehicles where we could talk in private, away from the scene.

"Witnesses saw two women dragging a third from the car. The physical descriptions varied too much to be sure of more than that. No one knows where they went. Everyone was looking at the car."

"Joyce was on their tail," I told him.

"So, we're probably talking Steph and Elena and Joyce?"

"Maybe. Is there any connection between Joyce and Terry?"

"None that I know of," Morelli said.

While I mulled it over, I stood hands on hips, surveying the crowd again, looking for anyone who didn't belong. I didn't see anything unusual.

"There must be a connection," I argued. "The girls called _you_ this morning to ask to borrow the dogs so they could check out the underpasses around the downtown area. Joyce knew where the girls were going this morning, just minutes after they had arrived."

"What are you saying, Manoso?"

"I'm saying, someone's got you wired, and that someone feed the information to Joyce," I said, shooting him a challenging look.

"If one of us is wired, it's not me," he said, returning the challenge. "I've been checking."

"Check again," I told him, my temper rising.

We stared each other down. The undercurrent of jealousy and resentment was so close to the surface it was difficult to sort out the exact reason why I wanted to hit him. I just knew I would feel a lot better if I did. Morelli looked like he was having the same thought.

Just then, we heard a faint beep. We looked at each other and waited for it to sound again. It was my stun gun showing low battery again.

A horrible realization hit me like a sledgehammer. "Shit!" I yelled, ripping the stun gun from my belt and smashing it into the asphalt. I picked through the pieces and pulled out an intricate listening device that had been hard-wired to use the battery from my stun gun. I'd swept my office and the control room at Rangeman, but I hadn't swept myself. It had been there, transmitting, all this time. I was the leak.

Morelli and I looked at each other. This was no cheap bug. This was top of the line, and the hard-wire job was professional quality.

"Who could have gotten that close to you?" Morelli asked, his cop mentality taking over.

I was so stunned I was having a little trouble thinking clearly. I took a deep breath and tried to push everything else aside, thinking only about the problem at hand. I ordered myself to focus.

"How well do you know Elena?" Morelli asked in an accusatory tone.

"It's not Elena," I assured him.

"If you refuse to look at the obvious, you're a fool, Manoso," he said, reviving the wave of anger I had felt only a moment ago.

I was about to blast him, when it hit me. I _was_ a fool. Of all the women in my life, who could the traitor be? The most _obvious_ answer was the woman I had used the most; the one who agreed there would be no emotional cost. My relationship with Stephanie had proven to me that there is always a cost. And it was going to cost me now for what I had done…to Jean Ellen.

"It's Jean Ellen," I told Morelli.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Positive," I said. "We worked a distraction job on Jimmy Voran the night he disappeared, and it went bad. She came in the next day, asked me to get her coffee, and I left her alone in my office. My gun belt was on the credenza behind my desk. She had opportunity and motive."

"How did she get a device like that? I know she can't afford it."

"She had help."

"You're thinking Terry."

"Terry has known what you've been up to all along. She didn't need to have you bugged. She had me tailing you. And she knows you didn't really break it off with Stephanie."

"So, one of my girls and one of girls, and here we go again," he sighed. "Throw Steph in the mix and we've got a real disaster on our hands."

I tossed my head back and laughed. "You know what our problem is Manoso?" He just looked at me. "We have too many dangerous women in our lives." I laughed again, long and loud. It just struck me as being eerily ironic, especially after I had avoided this situation for so long. It was inevitable.

"So? What do you suggest we do about it?"

"First, we need to find them. Then we'll worry about sorting them out." I needed to know what Morelli knew, and I needed to know now. "We have to work together, Morelli. There's no other choice right now. Tell me what you know, and I'll keep you informed on anything I find out."

"The only thing I know that you don't know is that we got a DNA match on the little girl, and you're not going to believe it," he said.

"Try me."

"The little girl belonged to Jackie."

"What does that mean?" I asked, mulling it over.

"I don't have anything concrete, but I'm working on a couple of theories."

"And?"

"Either they were using the girl as leverage against Jackie to get her to cooperate somehow, or they were using them both to manipulate the father of the girl."

"To do what?"

"I have no idea."

"Or?"

"Or, they were just selling them both," he suggested.

"I don't think so." I stared him down as much as I dared. He was holding back. "What else?"

"Lula gave a description of Jackie's pimp. It matches Kenny Martin."

"Lula didn't know Kenny's name?"

"She said it was Lenny."

"Close enough."

"Yeah," he agreed. "That's what I thought."

"And?" He was still holding back, and I was getting edgy. "I want it all, Morelli."

"We had Kenny's DNA on file from a rape case a few years back. He was a suspect, but it didn't pan out. I had a cross-check run and guess what?"

"Kenny's the father?" I asked.

"Bingo."

"Which ties Jackie and the girl to Kenny which leads us to Terry and Vito Grizolli." I said.

"It doesn't mean they killed her. There's a street war going on between Vito and Dominic De Luca. I have two dead Grizolli's too, remember?" Morelli said.

"Yeah, killed the same way as the others, which makes me think they all died by the same hands. Just because they are Grizolli's doesn't mean a Grizolli didn't do it. And if we do have a situation where there is a power struggle within the Grizolli family, that might account for the pressure being put on Kenny."

"Okay," Morelli mused, going along with my supposition for a minute. "What are they after? Bank account numbers, stash location, retribution for dipping into the wrong till? Who knows? The other problem is that I can't find Kenny."

"Been looking hard?" I asked. Morelli was a few steps ahead of me, like I figured.

"You know it."

"Asked Terry?" I pressed.

"More or less. I asked how I could get hold of him to invite him to the dinner party I suggested we throw to announce our engagement."

It was hard not to let my shock and amazement show. "And _you_ thought _I_ was nuts."

"I take it all back," he said in jest.

"Now what?" We walked to our vehicles and prepared to split up.

"You check your house. Sometimes Stephanie goes there for safety, though I'm doubting it. Rangeman would call me if they'd come back, so we know they're not there. I'm going to check out Jean Ellen's apartment. You call Terry and try to get her to meet you and don't let her out of your sight. She would want to be there when they do Steph, so it might buy us time."

"I'm on it," Morelli said, pulling out his cell and calling Terry.

I paused to see if she picked up. She didn't.

"Keep trying," I said, and I took off.

I was standing in Jean Ellen's completely stripped apartment when my cell buzzed. It was Morelli.

"No one here," he said. "Both dogs are back. Bob has no leash. Achilles is dragging his behind him. Looks like they let the dogs go when they knew they were in trouble." He was a little out of breath and sounded like he was still chasing the dogs around his yard.

"Did you get hold of Terry?" I asked.

"I left a few messages. Nothing yet." I head the back door open and close, and he dropped the phone. "Wait!" he yelled. I held while he messed with the dogs and then he came back on the line. "There was a piece of hamburger wrapper twisted around Bob's collar. I thought it might have been a message, but there's nothing on it."

"Describe it to me," I told him.

"It's just a hamburger wrapper that's been crushed and then unfolded flat, rolled like a bandana and then wrapped around Bob's collar."

"Any details Morelli. Look again. I don't see how Bob would have folded it and gotten it wrapped around his collar."

"There are just some holes poked in it."

"It's Braille. It's a message from Elena. Get a Braille alphabet from an encyclopedia or online and get it decoded. Stay on the line. I want to know the second you have it figured out."

There was silence as I drove while Morelli worked out the clue. "I don't get it," Morelli said finally, checking the wrapper and checking the page in his old encyclopedia. "What does 'Charlie feed the cat' mean?"

"That's what we have to find out," I said. "Change of plans. Bring the wrapper and meet me at the Hilton. We have to talk to Charlie."

"Who's Charlie?"

Ten minutes later, Morelli and I were knocking on the door to Charlie's hotel room. We brought him up to speed and let him study the wrapper.

"Do you know what it means?" I asked him, expressing urgency.

"Well, I think I might know what she's referring to, but I'm not sure exactly what she's meaning by it," he said.

"Please don't tell me she took the time to leave us her final wish." Morelli said.

"No, it's not really about her cat." He laid the wrapper down, clearly about to tell another story. "I integrated Elena's voice into my screen reader program so that the voice of my computer is her voice. I recorded all of our online voice chats and used her MP3 audio recordings to do it."

"How the hell does that help us and what does 'feed the cat' have to do with it?" Morelli asked, getting impatient.

I had a different question. "Does Elena know about this?"

"Of course," he said. "I asked her permission first." He blushed just a little. "Okay, maybe she doesn't know how obsessed I became over it. I mean, sometimes I asked her to read some pretty obscure stuff just to get one phrase that I wanted."

"You're sick," Morelli told him.

"He's in love," I corrected him.

"Oh, well, that's different then." Morelli said sarcastically, rolling his eyes at me. "So, what about the clue?"

"The first phrase I ever integrated was from a chat conversation I recorded. I was just figuring out how to do it. She'd said, 'I have to feed the cat.' It was easy to enter the pre-programmed phrase 'I have to', but it took me three days to figure out how to add the phrase 'feed the cat', because it wasn't already a part of the program."

I was with him now. "Can you access your computer remotely?" I asked.

He nodded. "Sure, with my laptop." He pointed to the table by the window.

"So how is this a clue?" Morelli asked, following me and Charlie to the computer.

"When Elena came to work for Rangeman, I warned her not to use certain phrases when talking on the phone. Maybe she's hoping for a chance to talk to us by phone if the kidnappers make demands. It would be innocuous for her to ask for someone to feed the cat, so that's what she'll say. They'll never spot it as being a giveaway to their position."

"So, you're saying you can locate her by using her voice?" Charlie asked.

"Yes," I said. "Speech recognition is different from voice recognition, but it's possible to triangulate her position much more quickly if we can use both. Since we have the voice pattern of the exact phrase she intends to use, we have a good shot, if we can get her on the phone. Doesn't matter if it's a cell phone or a land line."

"What the hell are you talking about, Manoso? Even if I call my fed contacts, they can't get this kind of thing arranged in time to help us," Morelli complained.

"Got it!" Charlie announced, pulling the single earplug from his ear and giving me control of the laptop. I was looking at a small MP3 file.

"I can't make this work," Morelli insisted.

I cut my eyes to him. "I wasn't asking for your help." I flipped open my phone and dialed in a secure code. My phone beeped twice to let me know the line was secure, and I dialed a number that I never thought I would need. Charlie and Morelli sat in silent astonishment as I gave my top secret government clearance code and ordered a triangulation or trace on any call matching the voice print I was sending.

"What exactly is it that you do for the government?" Morelli asked, stunned.

I ignored him and finished my call.

"Who the hell are you?" Morelli asked as I closed my phone. He'd been frozen to the spot, staring at me dumbfounded, which suited me fine. I had never intended for him know anything about my connections. Let him think I was some crazed mercenary bending all the rules to make a buck. What did I care.

But time was too short for keeping secrets now. I knew I could trust Morelli. But, he was looking me over with growing apprehension, and maybe even a little fear.

I didn't answer. I just gave him a look that said, _someone you don't want to mess with_. And I meant it.

_To be continued…_


	35. Chapter 35 Steph's POV Vito's Plan

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I did a major re-write on Chapter 33, and a minor touch-up on Chapter 34. Thanks again to Ranger's Fanfictional Cat for the constructive criticism. It was right on target once again. Thank you also to all of you who are posting such encouraging reviews. It sure makes writing a lot more fun with you guys along for the ride. We're entering the final stretch. Won't be long now. I think the ending is going to be awesome. I hope you like it, and if you don't…we'll re-write it till you do! Next up will be an unrelated Morelli/Steph adventure for all you Morelli fans. -Autumn

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena created by AutumnDreaming and Charlie created by Charles Martin in the novel "When Crickets Cry"._

_Steph's POV_

I woke up with a painful ache in my back and ribs. I was tied to a very ornately carved accent chair. The ropes were soft. Elena was sitting opposite me in a matching chair. The room was richly decorated with dark wood, a Persian rug that looked like it may have actually come from Persia, and heavy drapes made of tapestry quality material. The painted ceiling drew my eyes upwards, where my gaze was met by a flurry of wild animals that seemed to be at home among the gold leaf foliage along the border. It was a masculine room, and it smelled of fine cigars. An elderly man in a finely tailored suit sat behind an enormous mahogany desk. I nearly swallowed my tongue. It was Vito Grizolli himself, looking every bit like he had just walked off the set of _The Godfather_.

A svelte woman with long tapered legs, short blonde hair, and perfect skin was standing beside him in a little black dress. Of course, it had to be Terry Gilman.

I hadn't actually seen Terry up close since Sammy the Gimp's funeral a few years ago. I had allowed myself to be talked into doing a distraction job for Ranger. I was trying to lure Kenny Martin, Terry's cousin and Vito's nephew, outside so Ranger could take him down. He was FTA, and Ranger wasn't dumb enough to march into the funeral home and cuff him in front of Vito. Men died for much less. But, as it turned out, Ranger _had_ been dumb enough to send _me_ in. I botched the job, but, surprisingly, Vito and Kenny's mother had ordered him to go with me, peacefully, to re-schedule his court date so the lawyers could do the job they were paid for, which was getting him off Scot-free on a technicality.

Kenny's mother had also given me quite a chastisement over my choice of outfit. And who could blame her? I was dressed like a slut in heels four-inches too high and a skirt four inches too short, not to mention that I had two Nerf Balls stuffed into my bra. She was a mother after all, even if she was the mother of a lesser branch of a notorious crime family.

At the time, Vito had complained about "kids today". He sounded like any grandfather lamenting the state of the world, when in fact, he was the one who was ordering hits on people every other day and schooling the younger generations in the finer points of the racketeering and prostitution. Apparently, even a hit man was expected to have a strong work ethic and a sense of honor and loyalty. That is, at least as far as Vito was concerned. And he was disappointed that Kenny had a poor work ethic and wasn't showing he had honor. I had suspected at the time that his loyalty would be in question next, and I didn't want to be around to witness that discussion.

As I looked around the room, Joyce was no where to be seen, and I was a little worried about that. Then again, I wouldn't even have been in this spot if she hadn't stunned me, so I decided I wasn't concerned enough to ask about her. Elena was still out cold. There was a dried spot of blood on her lower lip, but otherwise seemed to be intact and breathing.

I looked back to Vito and Terry. Terry was idly tossing what looked like a hackey sack into the air and then catching it. She had a playful smile on her face, and I knew this didn't bode well for me. She held the little pouch out for me to see.

"Those bean bags hurt like the dickens, don't they?" she purred. My head was throbbing after having been stun gunned for the second time in one day, so I didn't bother to acknowledge her with a nod. Just a groan.

"You just don't know when to quit, do you, little girlie?" Vito clucked his tongue at me. "I don't know if I should be glad I was in time to save your sorry butt, or if I should be worried that I did." He snipped the end off an expensive looking cigar and started lighting it. "As I understand it, you have already caused more inconvenience than you're probably worth." Terry walked towards me, away from the smoke.

"I knew Jean Ellen was underestimating you," she said, her voice silky smooth. "If I had my way, we'd have shot you first and been done with it, but she wanted to have her fun. Next time, we're doing things my way."

"Not so fast, my dear," Vito warned her. "Now that I have her, I have plans for her. And her little friend."

"What plans?" I asked, hopeful that these would be long range plans.

Vito just chuckled and blew out a long puff of smoke. He was evidently happy about something.

He picked up a cell phone, and dialed a number that was written on a card on his desk. "You've been a lot of trouble to me, Morelli," he said into the phone. "But, now you're finally going to be useful to me, whether you like it or not."

I gasped. What kind of trouble had Joe and I gotten into this time?

"Terry and I will be leaving shortly, and we would appreciate it if you would see to it that our travel plans don't meet any unexpected complications. I know Stephanie would certainly appreciate it."

"Of course," he said, handing the phone to Terry. "Let her say hello to Morelli."

Terry put the phone to my ear. "Joe?" I said, straining to hear him.

"Cupcake, are you okay?"

"Yeah, Elena's still unconscious, but I think we're both fine."

Terry took the phone back to Vito. "Now, put Manoso on the phone," Vito ordered. "I know he's there with you." There was a moment of silence, and then Vito made his next request. "I am going to be transporting a large amount of _personal items_ when we leave, and I would appreciate some extra security to make sure all our _luggage_ arrives when and where we do. I will be in contact to tell you when and where your services will be required." With that, he hung up the phone, before a trace could be completed.

Jean Ellen strode into the room, and we shot each other looks that could kill. "Don't worry," she grinned like the cat that ate the canary, "Ranger's already helping us. He just doesn't know it yet. You see, we've been working out of his own safehouses. He's already been implicated. If he doesn't play nice, he's going to hang for all of this."

"Even if Joe and Ranger help you escape with your money, you're not going to let us go, are you?" I asked, knowing full well I wasn't going to like the answer.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Terry said to me, sitting down on a camel colored leather couch with an easy elegance that only comes from a lifetime of wealthy living. "Is the package ready for delivery?" she asked Jean Ellen.

"All wrapped and ready to go," she said, handing over a one inch tall by four inch square jewelry box that looked like it might have held a very fancy necklace.

"It's about time Kenny gave me a hand," Terry laughed, handing the package over to Vito.

"Yes. He's finally proving himself useful too," Vito agreed. He pressed a button on the side of his desk, and a young Italian man appeared, took the box, and disappeared back out the door without a word.

I felt nauseous. I knew in my gut that Kenny's hand was inside that box. I'd had my fill of receiving body parts in a box. I knew it was being sent as a message. I assumed it was going to Morelli. He could get the print off it, and he would know it was Kenny's, but I didn't see what good that did Vito. Maybe it was just a message that Vito meant business, and the next body part would be mine. I gave an involuntary shudder.

Another young man appeared at the door. He was dressed in a classic butler outfit, and sure enough, he informed Vito in a clipped Italian accent that dinner was being served in the main dining room. Vito looked at the clock, and then rose from his chair, gently stamping out his cigar and washing down the last swallow of amber liquid from the crystal tumbler beside him.

"I leave our guests to your capable hands, my dear" he said graciously to Terry, kissing her hand before he turned and walked slowly out of the room, taking his commanding presence with him.

The atmosphere of the room was now much less formal. Terry stood and walked around to Vito's chair. She slid into the luxurious leather seat and leaned back. A satisfied smile spread across her face. She was still plotting and planning. I could see the wheels turning.

"Well, ladies, you've certainly made a fine mess of things," she said, including Jean Ellen in this statement. That earned her a death glare from Jean Ellen.

"Please tell me you're in on this with Morelli," I begged her.

"Of course I'm helping Morelli, you idiot!" She looked shocked that I would think anything else. I almost believed her until I saw the smirk on Jean Ellen's face.

"I need to make a phone call," Terry said to Jean Ellen, "and I don't want any interruptions." She gestured to me and Elena. Jean Ellen pulled a roll of duct tape from her utility belt, just like Ranger had, and she taped our mouths shut. Elena still wasn't moving, but I suspected she was probably awake by now. She was just playing 'possum.

Terry flipped open her cell phone and hit a single key. She had Morelli on speed dial one, just like I had Ranger. I grit my teeth at the thought. I'd always had Morelli on speed dial two.

She leaned forward, projecting her voice and sounding breathless. "Oh, Joe, thank God! Listen carefully. I don't have much time. Kenny has been working for De Luca. He set us up, and Vito's decided we're leaving the country. Vito found out about Kenny weeks ago, and put a contract out on him. That's why Jackie was killed. They had a little girl together, and someone was trying to lure him out to collect on the contract by using them, but Kenny didn't give himself up for them. That's why they were killed. I just found out about it. Kenny gave De Luca the info on our operation and that's how my cousins got whacked by De Luca's man, Voran." She paused. "Listen to me, Morelli. You have to be very careful. There's another party involved now. It's not just Grizolli's and De Luca. We didn't kill Jackie and the kid. Someone else appears to be looking for Kenny. That's all I can give you, but" She paused. "I don't know, but I have an address they were using to hide some of our _investments_." She paused again. "632 N. Sycamore Ave #65. It's a trailer. I couldn't find out who owns it, but maybe you can. I have to go. Watch your back," she said, and she disconnected.

Terry sat back, clearly satisfied with her performance, as Jean Ellen took delight in slowly tearing the duct tape from my face, pulling out the little hairs one by one until tears ran down my cheeks. "You see," Terry said smoothly and with a hint of arrogance, "I had other plans, but Ranger found Jean Ellen's bug this afternoon." Jean Ellen's jaw dropped and she looked suddenly horrified. She ripped the tape the rest of the way off in a burst of anger. "Yes, he knows it was you."

Jean Ellen groped for a seat behind her and sat down, her legs nearly giving out from under her. "Ranger," she said, stunned.

"Yes, well, that's the only satisfaction I get; knowing that your plans are scrapped too." Terry pulled a gun from under Vito's desk and aimed it at Jean Ellen. "Now, I not only have to get clear of the family and get hold of the money, I have little time to do it, and I also have to convince Morelli that I have been on his side all along, and that's getting harder by the second."

Terry, there's still time to stop this. You're not a murderer." I thought to appeal to her sense of decency. Surely there must be a core of goodness inside her if Morelli was so drawn to her. Maybe she really was working with Morelli.

"Morelli will believe you because he wants to," Jean Ellen assured her calmly.

"Yes, but I have to be sure." Terry and Jean Ellen stared each other down like two gunfighters in the old west. Jean Ellen's hand moved to her own gun, but Terry was faster. The shot was muffled by the silencer on Vito's gun. Jean Ellen fell to the floor, and blood soaked into the priceless rug beneath her.

"You see," she purred, "Jean Ellen was envious of Ranger. He let her do the work, and he took the money and the prestige to build his little army of toy soldiers. She decided to go out on her own and take her own bite out of the pie. She was out for revenge too, and that's why she used Ranger's safe-houses to work out of. If things went bad, she thought she'd just hang it on Ranger and his little army of thugs. It'll be especially believable when two of his female employees also show up dead the same as the others."

"Morelli will never believe Ranger had anything to do with killing Jackie or her little girl," I told her. "And you're forgetting that Morelli is only pretending to be in love with you. To him, it's just work. It's not real."

"Keep telling yourself that, Stephanie Plum." She grinned, looking down on a shiny rock on her left ring finger. I gasped. "We have a history, me and Joe. I know him better than you ever will."

"No," I said. "He's changed." And I believed it. He wasn't the same kid I grew up with or went to high school with. Morelli the man, the cop, was a good man, and he wasn't going to be fooled by Terry, even if his hormones told him one thing and his brain was telling him another. "When he gets Kenny's hand, he'll know it's from Vito, and then he'll know you've been lying."

Terry laughed. "I didn't send Kenny's hand to Morelli. I sent it to De Luca, along with a little calling card from Ranger."

I gasped. "No!" Terry was hoping that De Luca would think Ranger was trying to take a cut of the action, acting as another player in the game, and he would send his goons out to gun down not only Ranger but all of the Rangemen, and they wouldn't even see it coming. "If Ranger is with Morelli, you could be risking his life too!" I shouted.

"Morelli and Ranger are about to part company. Don't worry. I know what I'm doing," Terry assured me. "You see, De Luca just killed Vito. I'm lucky to be alive. And when the dust settles, I'll be the clean informant working for Morelli, he'll have cracked the case wide open and the morgue will be full of bodies that won't be telling any tales. And if they do, we'll have to find ourselves a new coroner."

"Wait," I cried. "Vito's dead?"

"I've been telling him for years that he needs to watch what he eats, but he doesn't listen to me," she mused.

Vito had been our one ray of hope, and now we were at Terry's mercy. Vito would never have let Terry leave the family business to marry a cop. Having been raised by Vito and understanding the tactics employed by those around her, Terry had decided to wipe out the entire Grizolli family, take the money, and free herself up to be with Morelli. It had all been Terry's plan from the very beginning. Kenney, Vito, De Luca, Jackie…they were just pawns in the game. So much for Vito's lessons on honor and family loyalty.

Boy, had I underestimated the power Morelli could have over a woman. Sheesh. Of all people, I should have known better.

_To be continued..._


	36. Chapter 36 Ranger's POV Ranger's Plan

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena created by AutumnDreaming and Charlie created by Charles Martin in the novel "When Crickets Cry"._

_Ranger's POV_

Morelli and I had taken Charlie and his laptop to Rangeman. We were sitting in my office in the control room when Morelli took the call from Terry.

He closed his phone and I looked at him expectantly.

"Terry says Kenny flipped. He's been working for De Luca for some time now. Vito found out and put a contract on Kenny, and an unknown third party has been trying to collect. That's where Jackie and the kid come in and how two Grizolli's got whacked. Kenny gave up the Grizolli's to De Luca, and then refused to surface to save Jackie and his own daughter."

"I don't buy it," I said. "It sounds off."

"She gave me an address to check out. Says it's her only lead to the third party." He wrote the address down on a sticky note and held it up for me to see before tucking it into his notebook. "Give me a few minutes to call this in and see if we can find out who this third party is."

"Don't bother," I told him. "She's lying."

He paused, waiting for an explanation.

"I know the address. It's a Rangeman safe-house."

"What?"

"You heard me. That trailer belongs to me," I said.

"Terry said it was one of the places that some of their working girls had been stashed by Kenny and De Luca. I guess this third party found out about the place and cleaned them out."

"Sounds like Jean Ellen has been using Rangeman to…" I took a deep breath, trying to keep calm. "She had access to a whole line of safe-houses up and down the East Coast. But she's not working for De Luca. She's working for Terry. This doesn't make sense."

"They've been using your safe-houses, and you didn't know anything about this?" Morelli asked, standing, hands on hips. I usually know everything that goes on in my world of security. That's what I do. I monitor and secure buildings and property. I didn't have an answer as to how she got it by me.

"Jean Ellen is very good. That's why I hired her. And I've obviously taught her too much for my own good. The real question is, why would Terry give you that address? Unless she's got more to implicate me," I said, trying to piece the various bits of information together.

"Well, you can relax," Morelli said, crossing his arms and beginning to pace the floor. "I'm not ready to run you in just yet." He turned to me. "But, I'm thinking about it." With pleasure, it seemed, if things weren't so tense.

"I'm thinking she wants me to worry about you while she's setting me up for a hit somewhere else. Someplace unexpected." I called Tank into the office. "Pull every man out of the field, now. If they are on a priority surveillance, send a second team to assist and send them with full tactical gear for all of the men. And they need to be on full alert."

"What's the threat?" Tank asked, looking mildly alarmed. He could tell from my demeanor that this was no drill.

"Damage control. It's looking like I've been set up by Jean Ellen to look like an imminent threat to the De Luca empire, and we can expect to be seeing them real soon. Evacuate Rangeman immediately and fall back to the secondary site and load up. We need to be ready for anything." He nodded and turned to go. "Tank, we need an envoy to visit De Luca, now. See what we can afford to offer as a good-will gesture." Maybe there was someone he had a problem with that I could remove for him. It was always good to offer beads to the natives before opening negotiations.

Morelli was standing in the corner with his fingers in his ears. "I didn't hear any of that."

"Good," I said, giving him a cold stare. "Terry's got to look clean on this, so I'm betting she's going to try to make us think Jean Ellen is on De Luca's payroll, trying to play one against the other while she and Vito slip away."

"Look, I know you believe Jean Ellen planted that bug on you, but that doesn't necessarily mean Terry is involved."

"Then why was Vito so sure we were working together? It seems unlikely given the current situation with Stephanie. We should be adversaries as far as Terry is concerned. The only way Vito would know we are working together is if we had a tail, which we didn't, or Jean Ellen's bug. And Terry would also know we suspect her, so she's got to make amends somehow to regain your trust. She's going to pin it all on her partner, Jean Ellen."

Morelli groaned.

"They're going to call, and we have to get Elena on the phone," I said.

We packed up, secured Rangeman, and moved out to a warehouse on the other end of the downtown area town. It appeared to be a storage building for a nearby manufacturing plant. I had it painted to match the plant. It was well camouflaged and Jean Ellen had never been aware it existed. Only the original four - Tank, Lester, Bobby, and I -knew it's location. Some of the guys who had been with us long enough knew there was a secondary location with this kind of equipment, but they never knew where. Keeping it hidden protected the men from temptation and Rangeman from risk. And after using it this time, we would have to move it again.

Morelli's eyes were bugging out of his head when we walked in. I watched Charlie's reaction. Morelli was leading Charlie by the elbow. I could see him taking in the echo of the large warehouse which gave away it's immense size, the motors and horns of two forklifts being operated and of men opening crates and passing around full body armor, automatic weapons, and ammunition. The motor was running on one of two armored troop transport vehicles.

"I don't even want to know," Morelli said, closing his eyes and pressing both hands against his temples.

"It's all legal," I assured him.

"Yeah, right." Morelli threw up his hands.

"And, it's all mine," I told him, indicating it did not belong to the government.

"Paid cash?" he asked derisively.

"Of course," I said, barely smiling at his approaching panic attack.

"You know what I said about taking it all back, about you being nuts? Well, I was right the first time. You really are nuts." He was about to give in to one of his famous Italian rants. "Stephanie once said that you march to a different drummer, and I told her that you were psycho, and all your drummers were psycho too. But, even when I said that, I had no idea just how psycho you really are!"

"You strike me as the type who was a Boy Scout in grade school. Am I right?" He didn't answer. "Didn't they teach you to always be prepared?"

"For what? A full-scale armed invasion? Nuclear annihilation?"

"Among other things," I agreed matter-of-factly.

"Among other things," he repeated under his breath.

I cracked a smile. "Things come up." I waited till he looked at me. "Things like Stephanie Plum." I was quite serious. And I was ready.

Charlie was asking Morelli for a description of what was going on while I was making an initial assessment of my mens' progress. I was gathering together two sets of body armor for me and Morelli when Morelli's phone rang. I dropped everything and walked quickly towards him, but Morelli waved me off and announced that it was only Eddie Gazzara.

The longer Morelli listened to Gazzara, the more the blood-red color and anxious emotion drained from his face. He was back in cop-mode. When their conversation was concluded, he filled us in.

"They gathered up the pieces of the BMW for examination, checking for the ignition source. One of the examiners noticed something glinting among the smaller pieces and found part of the battery, one terminal, with a gold diamond engagement ring fused to it. Gazzara identified it as being Stephanie's ring, the one I gave her." He looked both sad about the ring, and confused as to what it was doing on the battery terminal. "They sifted through the other parts and found the broken pieces of the connector they believe went around that terminal. It appeared that the ring had been used to bridge the gap between the connector, which had been loosened, and the battery terminal."

"They were reported by witnessed to have crashed at a fairly high speed. I was thinking they may not have had any brakes, but this suggests they had other car trouble," I said. Morelli nodded in agreement.

"There's more. A fisherman was cited this afternoon for fishing with dynamite along the bank of the Delaware. He claims a woman fitting Stephanie's description threw a bomb at him."

"A bomb," I repeated. "A disabled car, a bomb, and a high speed chase. She never disappoints."

"I can't tell you how much I would love to be disappointed right now," Morelli growled.

"Gazzara also said he'd be in touch with Connie. I asked him to give me a hand with the Kenny connection."

"You thinking he's been to Atlantic City lately?" I asked.

"I'm thinking it's worth asking Connie about." Connie was not only Vinnie's secretary and the brains of his outfit, but she was rumored to have Mob connections herself, and she was particularly fond of the slots.

Morelli's phone rang again, and I could hear Connie and Lula, shouting in unison in the background. Morelli held the phone out to me. "I can't deal with this…you take it." He looked like he had an Excedrin headache.

"Yo," I said to Connie.

"Yo, yourself!" she snapped. "What's this about Steph being kidnapped again? I thought you boys were on top of things at Rangeman."

I ignored her comment. "What do you know about Kenny Martin's recent activities? Can you find out if he owes any money to any of the big-time Borgata."

"I already know the answer to that question. You think we haven't bonded out Grizolli's often enough that I take notice when I see one losing that big at the back tables?" Connie was on a roll. "That boy wasn't just losing chump change, but in that crowd, he was just rounding off money."

"How much money?" I asked, holding my breath.

"He owed $25-thou' squared just on the one game I saw." That was $25 million. "And those boys weren't going to stop until he was tapped. And then, they were probably going to tap him."

"Connie, I need a huge favor."

"Name it."

"Can you see if Manny would agree go in to check on Stephanie and Elena once I find out where they are?"

"Manny?" Manny Rosolli was Connie's cousin and the owner of the salvage yard that usually supplied me with plates. As it turned out, I had been supplying him with more cars to crush lately as well.

"Vito has them. He called me," I told her.

"Oh my God!" she cried. "Vito has Stephanie," she told Lula. There was finally silence on the other end. "I don't know. Let me call him."

Ten minutes later my phone rang. "He's on his way to the bond's office. He wants to know the situation first, and he'll want to talk to you. Let us know if there's anything else we can do."

"Understood," I said, and hung up. I wanted to keep my line clear.

"Lester and Bobby, I need you," I called. They came tramping over, weighed down by their gear. "Take a car and go to Elena's house. I need you to get something for me." I gave them a description and they were gone.

Morelli had pulled out his cell and tried to call Terry again to see if he could get any additional information or even manage to stall her, but she didn't answer.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Morelli said with mounting apprehension.

"I have a plan," I told him. "There's no point spreading ourselves thin trying to scout them out at known location. Chances are slim they'd be anywhere we'd know to look. We just have to sit tight and be ready to move as soon as we know where they are."

"What about Kenny?" he asked.

"They already have Kenny."

"How do you know?" he asked, hands on hips.

"Because if they didn't, he'd probably be beating down your door asking you to put him in protective custody." I looked at him. "You don't have him in protective custody, do you?" Morelli had kept Dickie Orr in protective custody and kept it a secret from me and Steph only a few months ago. Stephanie was suspected of Dickie's apparent murder, and we were working overtime trying to find him and clear her name. When she found Dickie at Morelli's under his protection, it was almost a double murder – Dickie's and Morelli's.

"Not this time," he sighed.

"That's a shame…for Kenny," I said.

"Yeah," Morelli agreed. "I wonder if we're not getting a call because Vito and Terry haven't found the money yet."

"There is no money," I said. We both knew that any money Kenny had access to was long gone.

"They don't seem to know that yet."

"And when they find out…" I stopped in my tracks. What if they had found out, and there was no second call. When they found out, they'd kill Steph and Elena, and probably Joyce and Jean Ellen to boot. So much for all the dangerous women in my life. Life would certainly be dull without them. Unbearable, in fact, without _her_.

"Well, Boy Scout," Morelli said, rubbing his three-day beard and wiping his furrowed brow. "Do you have a plan for that one?"

"No," I admitted. "But with Steph," I paused. I didn't know how she did it, but somehow, things always worked out in her favor in the end. "She'll find a way. We just have to be ready when she does."

_To be continued..._


	37. Chapter 37 Steph's POV Terry's Downfall

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena created by AutumnDreaming and Charlie created by Charles Martin in the novel "When Crickets Cry"._

_Steph's POV_

Terry was still holding the gun on me when she picked up her cell again. She plugged in what looked like a phone charger and hit speed dial. "Voice distortor," she told me. "Make a sound and you're dead."

"Yo," I heard Ranger answer.

"Take two SUV's with four men apiece and wait behind the loan center on State near Broad. Our men will meet you there. Do anything stupid, and Stephanie dies." She paused. He was speaking. "You're not in a position to give demands," she told him. "Or, am I bargaining with the wrong chip?" She stood and walked over to Elena. She put the phone down on the end table beside Elena and slapped her hard across the face. Elena opened one eye and glared at Terry. Her mouth was still taped shut.

Terry pointed the gun at me, indicating that if Elena said anything she didn't like, she'd shoot me. She ripped the tape off Elena's mouth and switched a button on the voice distortor. She held the phone up to Elena's ear and pressed the speaker button so she could hear what was said between them.

"Ranger?" Elena croaked, her mouth dry.

"Yeah, Sunshine, it's me."

Elena tried to clear her throat, and Terry tensed, waiving the gun at me again. "We're okay," she said, "but I forgot to feed the cat. Can you send someone?"

I was looking at her like she was nuts? We're about to be killed and she's worried about the cat! Typical Elena.

"I promise, I'll send someone, Sunshine."

Terry pulled the phone away and pressed the end button on her phone. She unplugged the device and slipped the phone into a small black handbag.

Elena was giving me a meaningful look, as if help was on the way. I didn't get it, but I decided that if she was expecting Ranger to come breaking down the door, I had better be expecting him too. The loan company Terry mentioned was squarely in the middle of De Luca's neighborhood, and I knew she was setting him up. Maybe Elena had managed to let Ranger know it was a set up. Maybe they had a code word, I decided.

Terry seemed to be having the same thoughts. She turned and looked intensely at Elena, trying to see if she was passing information to me. Elena unexpectedly broke down in tears. She was sobbing uncontrollably, apparently distraught at the thought of her cat becoming motherless.

"Well, that's done." Terry sounded self-satisfied again. "As soon as I know Ranger is out of the way, you will be too."

I wanted to start crying right along with Elena. I almost did, but I wouldn't give Terry the satisfaction.

We sat, waiting in silence while Terry played with a glass vial full of white powder. It had to be Jezebel's Rope.

"What's that for?" I asked. I know it was stupid to ask, but I have always been gifted with an over-abundance of curiosity. I just had to know.

"It's for Kenny," she smiled. "At least, what's left of him."

"You're going to kill him too?" I asked, looking back down at Jean Ellen's limp body. "I don't get it. I thought Kenny was like your partner of something? I heard Vito put him in charge of his little operation."

It appeared I had hit a nerve. "Let's get one thing straight," she said coldly. "I developed Jezebel's Rope. It was my idea to pick up Rufus' business, and it was my plan Vito bought into. And then, he put Kenny in charge. He said he was grooming Kenny because the family needed a man in charge." She laughed out loud. "Yeah, 'the Martin crime family' has such an ominous ring to it!"

"So, Kenny was in charge? Then what happened?"

"Kenny is a moron," she laughed. "I wanted out of the family business. The only way to do that is to leave the family, and there are only two ways you leave the family." She held up two fingers. "Dead, or by being the lone survivor." She laid the gun on the desk in front of her.

"I gave Kenny enough _Rope_ to hang himself with." She stopped, laughing at her own joke. "It was easy. I gave him access to what he thought was all the money. I gave him opportunities to skim, and I let slip where the big games were going to be happening. It was too easy," she said, her voice as silky smooth as it was menacing.

"Then, you set him up and let Vito go after him?"

"Sure. Can you think of a better way? I gained Vito's trust, Kenny was a dead man, and all I needed was someone to help me pin Vito's death on De Luca and the crime war."

"And Jean Ellen volunteered," I concluded.

"The timing was excellent. And we shared a common interest," she let her evil gaze fall upon me. "We both wanted you dead. It was all falling into place until Jean Ellen's little stunt. I warned her that you were trouble and we should just be rid of you, but you've really gotten under her skin. She wanted to watch you burn."

I'd heard that one before. And I still didn't like it. My skin started crawling, and the room started spinning a little.

I was saved from a full-blown panic attack by the young butler who had appeared earlier. He had reappeared and addressed Terry. "Signora, Manny Rosolli is here."

My head popped up at the mention of his name. That was Connie's cousin. What in the world was he doing here? Elena noticed my reaction and gave me a look that said I should cool it and look unconcerned.

"Tell him I am otherwise engaged and he should call again some other time," she said smoothly, glaring at the man through her long eyelashes.

"Signora," he said hesitantly. "He says Vito sent for him."

"What? When?"

"I don't know. I'm sorry. Would you like me to ask him?"

"No," she said. Apparently it was not uncommon for guests to be bound to the chairs and threatened with guns. The butler didn't seem concerned. "Pat him down and send him in," she said, picking up the gun again. I had the feeling Manny was going to wish he'd picked another day for a visit.

Manny was a real Italian grease monkey, wearing what had once been a white T-shirt under his leather dress coat, jeans, and worn black leather boots. His hair was in as much need of an oil change as his junked cars, and he had a slight mustache on his upper lip that reminded me a lot of Connie.

"Hey, doll," he said casually to Terry. "What's up?"

"What's up with you?" Terry asked. "Vito sent for you?"

"Yeah, got some job or other for me," he walked around to Elena and me. "This it?" he asked. He bent over me, putting his face near mine and sniffed me behind the ear like a dog. I had every intention of kicking him hard in the nuts, that was, if I could have got my ankles free. I was holding my breath, not wanting sweaty Manny cooties entering my nose, but he stayed close so long I had to take a breath. And when I did, I got a nose full of Elena's perfume. My eyes were wide as half-dollars. It was a good thing my face was pressed into Manny's neck.

He pulled back and I tried to control the racing of my heart. This was it. Ranger had sent him in to help rescue us. Ranger had to be right outside.

"I think I'm going to like this job," Manny crowed. "Why can't they all be like this?"

"Be like what?" Terry said.

"I'm supposed to take them to another location and sit on them." He walked over to Elena and pulled a similar stunt on her. I saw her eyes widen, then narrow, and then fume. She didn't like her privacy being invaded any more than her personal space, and she was actually angry with Ranger for dipping into her personal stash of spice. I was just glad to know we weren't alone.

"Well, plans have changed. They stay here with me," she said.

"Hey," Manny shrugged. "Orders is orders, Cookie. Take it up with Vito."

"When did you talk to Vito?" she asked, calculating again. I could see the wheels turning.

"Just now. I passed him as he was leaving with Kenny Martin in tow," he said casually.

Terry walked quickly out of the room, and I could hear her marching down the hall, heels clicking on the marble floors.

Manny had been patted down by the butler and didn't have a knife or gun on him. He grabbed Joyce's gun from her belt. He patted her down quickly and came up with a switchblade, which he used to deftly slice through the ropes, freeing us. "Get moving!" he said. "Ranger only gave me 15 minutes. They're coming in!"

Manny handed me the gun, pocketed the blade, and tossed Jean Ellen over his shoulder. I was shocked to hear her gasp. She was still alive!

Since I had the gun, I lead the way to the door, Manny followed, and Elena brought up the rear. We were halfway across the room when Terry appeared in the doorway. She got the drop on me. She waved her gun, indicating I needed to drop mine. I hesitated, but she meant business. Just as I dropped the gun, there was a shot fired. Plaster and wood rained down from the ceiling. At first I thought my gun had gone off, but I hated guns. I had really just hoped to scare anyone we met, not shoot them. I hadn't even chambered a round. But there was a second shot, and we all scattered. I jumped over and behind Vito's' mahogany desk. Manny and Jean Ellen were behind the tan couch, and Terry was standing behind a large pillar just inside the doorway. Elena was crouched behind the chair I had been bound to and she had a small gun that she apparently had pulled from Jean Ellen's ankle holster.

Terry aimed and fired at Elena, but missed. It's much harder to shoot accurately when your adrenaline is through the roof and you're boiling mad. Terry was murderous. She knew Vito was still alive, and she was probably number one on his list of people to kill.

Terry came around the pillar in a flurry of black dress and pale skin, aimed the gun directly at me, and fired. I dove under the desk and felt the impact of the bullets as they lodge in the wood just inches from me. Terry was in a frenzy, firing off every round she had. The final click of the gun was followed by the clicking of her heels as she made a dive for me. She was going to kill me with her bare hands.

I had dropped the gun, and I didn't have any weapons. I quickly made a swipe of the top of the desk, praying for a letter opener or a steel-tipped fountain pen, but what I got was a crystal vial of power. The information barely had time to register before Terry was on me. We were rolling around on the floor, pulling each other's hair, screaming, and unleashing all the pent-up frustration we'd been storing up all these years. My thoughts were on Terry and Joe and how they had made me feel like such an idiot time and time again.

I wrapped my fist around the vial and punched Terry square in the jaw. She rocked back, and when she came forward, I tagged her in the eye. I wanted to punch in her pretty nose, too, but she brought both hands together over her head and brought them down so hard into my stomach that I thought I would never be able to draw a breath again. My legs drew up and I rolled onto my side, unable to respond. She was going for my gun. I had to act, whether I could breathe or not.

I grabbed her ankle and pulled her back towards me, struggled to straddle her, enduring the slapping and hitting. I pulled back my fist and made to hit her as hard as I could. She turned her head at the last second, and I missed her nose and smacked my hand into the side of the desk. The vial shattered, and Terry got a face full of Jezebel's Rope. She sputtered and coughed, and I knew she was inhaling it.

It was at that moment that the mansion was rocked by the sound of explosions. Flash bangs were going off in various areas of the house. Men were shouting warnings, firing off automatic weapons, and chaos was breaking loose all around us. Ranger was here with the cavalry.

I pulled away from Terry, who was gently writhing in a state of drug-induced confusion, and waited behind the desk for our rescue. "In here!" Lester bellowed, and Ranger and Tank followed him into the room as full speed. They were in full tactical gear and armed to the teeth.

When I popped my head up from behind the desk, I saw Ranger standing just inside the doorway, looking like a Cuban-American Rambo. He removed his flak helmet. His hair was a sweaty mess, his eyes were clear and focused, his muscular might was threatening, and he looked as dangerous as a man can get. I sucked in a breath. Was I really in a relationship with this guy? Yikes! Yikes! Yikes!

His eyes caught mine, and although I sensed relief flooding him, I didn't see him make any perceptible movement or change his expression. "Babe," he said, coming towards me. He stopped when he saw Terry lying on the floor with a white clown face. "Problem?" he asked.

"Definitely," I told him. "But I've got it under control." I smiled up at him.

"I know you do, Babe."

"Are you okay?" I asked him. "I was so worried about you!"

The corner of his mouth curled upward. "I'm the one who was desperate to find you, and you're worried about me?"

"Yeah," I said, seriously. "I love you." That got me the 200-watt smile.

"Even when you're playing the damsel in distress, you're still wearing your Wonder Woman outfit underneath," he said, pulling me in for one of those bone-melting kisses. Did I say yikes? I meant, yum.

Hal and Tank removed Jean Ellen and Bobby and Lester took Terry. When we got outside, the butler and some other men were in cuffs and being loaded up into a military transport vehicle. For a minute I thought the Marines had rescued us!

Manny and Elena were right behind us. I turned to Manny. "How in the world did you march in there like one of the family?" I asked him.

Manny rolled his eyes and grimaced. "Rosolli. Grizolli. Sound alike to you?"

"You mean, you and Connie are Grizolli's?" I gasped.

"Were," he corrected. "Our families parted ways a couple generations ago over a 'difference of opinion'." He shrugged. "We have a saying: "Rosolli's work, Grizolli's crook". But to Vito, blood is always blood. He gave me the money to start the salvage yard, and I've made a few vehicles disappear for him over the years. I didn't do the actual crushing, mind you. But he used the equipment once in awhile."

"Nice," I said, screwing up my face in disgust.

"You knew this?" I asked Ranger.

"I know lots of things, Babe," he said. No kidding.

"They, why didn't you know about Jean Ellen? She was using Rangeman to run Terry's operation and you didn't know about it?"

"Yeah," Ranger groaned. "One of the things Jean Ellen did for Rangeman was scout out new locations for our safe-houses. She was also in charge of setting up the security. I don't have time to do everything myself, you know. I have to rely on my team for a lot of the work. And Jean Ellen was trusted with a lot." He looked over to the ambulance where paramedics were hooking Jean Ellen to an IV. She had been restrained and cuffed and shackled to the gurney. "The safe-houses they were working out of hadn't been utilized by Rangeman yet. Once we use a safe-house, we dispose of it and find a new one. I suppose Jean Ellen was feeling rather insulted by the assignment. I thought I was keeping her busy and out of trouble, but I suppose she saw it as demeaning." He sighed. "I never mean for things to turn out this way."

I put my hand on his arm, and he covered my hand with his. Then, slowly, he pulled me to him and wrapped me in a warm embrace. I clung to him for a moment as the adrenaline rush finally fading.

Morelli had been seeing to Terry who had been taken to a waiting ambulance. Now he joined us, looking torn between pulling me away from Ranger and running the other way. I pulled back from Ranger, but stayed within his invisible force field.

"What happened to Vito? Did he really leave with Kenny?" I asked Morelli. "Terry tried to poison him. She thought he was dead," I told Ranger.

"We saw Vito leave with a still-kicking Kenny stashed in the trunk of his car. I wanted to call for backup to follow him, but Ranger let Vito go," Morelli explained.

"I didn't want to risk him seeing any of us tailing him," Ranger said. "That was just one less variable to be concerned about when we went into the house."

"Ranger said you were all that was important, and that we would catch up to Vito later." Morelli toed the dirt in front of him, looking down. "I would have tried to catch him," he admitted. He turned to Ranger. "I'm glad to see you put Steph first this time."

"My Babe comes first everytime," Ranger said, pulling me back into his arms.

_To be continued..._


	38. Chapter 38 Steph's POV Heroes

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena created by AutumnDreaming and Charlie created by Charles Martin in the novel "When Crickets Cry"._

_Steph's POV_

Ranger had taken a call while we were watching Jean Ellen's ambulance pull away. He walked away from us to speak in private. He seemed pleased with the news, whatever it was, although it wouldn't be accurate to say he looked happy about it either. Maybe relieved would be a better way of putting it. Ranger had been much more open lately, but when he came back over to us, he didn't offer anything about the phone call. I supposed it was because we were in mixed company.

Ranger sent Elena and me back to Rangeman, with orders to stay in his apartment and not to leave. Morelli seemed shocked by this, but Ranger said something about acceptable arrangements having been made. Was he talking about _us_? Ranger and me? What were the acceptable arrangements he was talking about? Before I had a chance to ask any questions, Tank and Lester were pushing us into a black Rangeman SUV. Ranger and Morelli were heading out, each in their own vehicle.

This was the sort of thing that usually made me crazy. I knew that Morelli and Ranger were going to have to handle the clean up and paperwork, but they were also making plans to catch Vito, and they were doing all of it without me. The clean up part I was okay with. It was the other part that had me a little steamed. But, thank God, I was too worn out and exhausted to care about anything more than a long, hot shower with Ranger's high-power shower massage and delicious Bulgari shower gel.

Sure enough, I still had clothes in Ranger's closet. Elena borrowed a pair of black sweats and a black T-shirt from Ranger. They were ridiculously large on her, but she was clean and comfy enough to lounge around the apartment. We camped out on the couch and watched TV for a few hours before heading to bed. I knew chances were good we weren't going to see Ranger till tomorrow.

The sunlight was streaming through the windows when I opened my eyes. I knew Ranger was back. I could hear his clothes rustle as he leaned against the doorframe watching us.

"How are my girls this morning?" he asked, with only a hint that the sight of two women in his bed amused him. To me, he sounded mostly comforted to find us safe, sound, and rested. It also meant he'd done his job well.

"Don't get any ideas," Elena shot at him.

Ranger just grinned with a menacing glint in his eyes like he might devour us. He didn't mean it, but he couldn't resist playing. Good. If Ranger felt playful, things had gone well overnight.

There was a bag of donuts and fresh coffee in the kitchen. Elena and I dove into the donuts while Ranger drank his black coffee and brought us up to date.

"Terry had given info to Morelli sometime long before about Vito's retirement plans. She said he wanted to buy a huge spread in Argentina. While his money would certainly go father in South America, I doubt Argentina is his true destination. Vito didn't grow this old by trusting anyone, especially family. That's the only reason he's still alive today. Terry did try to poison him. We found evidence of that."

"So, why did Vito take Kenny? Is he still trying to get the money from him?" I asked.

"Vito has his own money. I think he took him because he chose Kenny, put him in charge, and he wants to believe that he still has the money. Plus, Vito doesn't like spilling his own blood. But, when he finds out what really happened to the money, he'll start feeling better about it."

"So, if Kenny had told him the truth already, he'd be dead?" Elena asked.

"Yes. Keeping his mouth shut was the only way he could stay alive," Ranger said. "But if he keeps losing body parts, he's going to talk."

"Wouldn't Vito already have found out Kenny lost the money gambling? I mean, Connie knew. Doesn't Vito know?" I asked.

"No way," Ranger laughed. "No loan shark or bookie in his right mind would admit to fleecing Vito Grizolli's heir apparent. And if they knew at the time that Kenny stole the money from Vito, that's the same as stealing from Vito directly. No better way to find yourself under a fresh slab of cement."

"So, where do you think Vito went?" I asked.

"I have a few ideas, and I have eyes out…a lot of eyes" Ranger said. "The real question is how to get close to him once we find him. He'll have at least two bodyguards with him. More than that in an airport would draw a crowd. He'll be trying to fly private or charter a boat from an individual, and off the grid if possible. I think I've got that market covered. He'll turn up. When he does, someone has to get close to him, take out the guards, and then we can take him down, preferably alive and in one piece."

"Why does it sound like there's a catch?" Elena asked.

"There is. The catch is that Vito has paid good money to obtain photo id's of all of the cops, feds, Rangeman personnel, and other East Coast and freelance mercenaries who might come after him. That file includes the two of you. We have to have a fresh face. Someone they haven't seen before."

"You have someone in mind," I said. I knew when Ranger was leading up to something.

"I do. And he's agreed wholeheartedly to help us."

* * *

Vito was wearing a disguise and was barely recognizable. He didn't seem the least bit broken up about the death of his nephew, whose mangled and mutilated body was found in a water-filled pit at a construction site near the Delaware the day before.

Vito had chartered a small private jet from a small community airport in Orlando. Ranger explained that the plan was to enter a South American country, drop off the three passengers and take on three passengers and return as if they had been on a sight-seeing trip looking over some real estate. No one would realize the plane had landed, or that a wanted man had escaped the country.

As Vito stood, waiting by the windows with a goon on either side, all three appeared non-descript, dressed in black suits and sunglasses. Vito wore a dark brown Panama hat, and had colored some of his gray a caramel brown.

A man was sitting in a chair in the lounge. Vito studied him as they entered, appraising his dress, his face, and his companion. After a few minutes of looking into the man's eyes, he seemed satisfied, and gave a wave of acceptance to the thugs who were prepared to clear the area.

An announcement brought the man slowly to his feet, and he and his companion, a seemingly arthritic German Shepherd, to their feet. Both moved as if it required a lot of effort, and once on their feet, the man extended a long white cane with a red tip. They approached, the dog almost pulling at the lead. Suddenly, the man released the dog. "Take down, left, Achilles!" The dog launched himself at the guard on his left, growling and biting as he knocked the 250lb muscle to the floor. The man yelled, striking the other goon in the gut with the red end of the cane before bringing it down on his back as the goon doubled over.

Without warning, the man was on Vito Grizolli, wrestling him to the ground, but the goon grabbed him and pulled him off. While the two men struggled, Vito got to his feet and ran, leaving his Panama behind. He only made it about fifteen feet before he was thrown to the floor. Four huge paws dug into his back and he felt hot breath and teeth against his ear and neck.

Ranger appeared out of nowhere and cuffed Vito while Achilles ripped up the material of Vito's suit jacket. Ranger seemed satisfied to let Achilles toss Vito around like a rag-doll until Elena called him off. Tank had one goon in tow, and Charlie had the other, following Tank's echoing footfalls.

"Now, that's what I call the long paw of the law!" Charlie said, calling Achilles over to him and patting him on the head.

Everybody groaned. "That was so bad!" Elena said laughing. "So bad it's almost funny!" She handed him his walking stick, which surprisingly was still in working order. She checked him over. A cut over his eye was bleeding a little. She dabbed at it with a damp paper towel at the water fountain as I brought him some wrapped ice from the drink station.

"I might not be able to see out of that eye for a while," he said, grinning down at her.

She wrapped both arms around him. "That's okay," she said. "Because now, I can see you."

_To be continued..._


	39. Chapter 39 Steph's POV Ranger's Secret

**Author's Note: Hey guys! Sorry for the delay a few days ago. I had to travel for work, and it seemed to take me two days to get packed and one day on the plane. I bought a laptop just before I left, and I've got this wireless thing figured out now, so I'm back in business. :) Just one more chapter to go! Let me know if you're still out there reading. I haven't had many PM's lately. -Autumn.**

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena created by AutumnDreaming and Charlie created by Charles Martin in the novel "When Crickets Cry"._

_Steph's POV_

While we were in Orlando chasing Vito, Morelli was getting information from Terry and Jean Ellen as to where Vito's money was. Because, as it turned out, it wasn't actually the profit from Jezebel's Rope that Terry had her eye on. Aside from living happily ever after with Joe, Terry was after Vito's private accounts overseas. Since she had been in a position to get to the money before she tried to murder Vito, Morelli figured she knew the account numbers and how to gain access. It was amazing how cooperative Terry was after sniffing some of her own creation. She was so cooperative, in fact, that Vito had a very difficult time trying to leave the country with only his pocket change. The Feds had seized all of the money Terry knew about the day Kenny was found, and so, there was plenty of evidence to put Vito away for a very long time, assuming someone else didn't step up and hire top-dollar lawyers to search out any loopholes. Even if Vito was sentenced and ended up doing time, Joe and Ranger both thought he'd probably just start his racket up again from behind prison bars. Either way, we were all going to have to keep an eye out for Vito Grizolli.

Joyce and Terry were both spending some quality time in a psych ward while they were being evaluated to determine whether or not they were fit to stand trial. I was betting neither of them would ever see the inside of a courtroom, but I was willing to settle them wearing a straight-jacket and a padded cell for the next 30 years or more.

Morelli had flown down to Orlando to join us after we called to tell him the capture had been successful. He was working as a liaison between the Feds and the various police departments to coordinate the charges as accomplices, victims, and bodies were being turning up all along the East Coast. Vito, Terry, and Jean Ellen were all being charged with murder and attempted murder, as well as assault, kidnapping, prostitution, drug trafficking, and a long list of other charges. Morelli had always told me that when it comes to the law, it isn't what you know; it's what you can prove. And when it came to gathering admissible evidence, Morelli was one of the best.

We'd all been debriefed at the Orlando cop shop. I was waiting for Ranger to retrieve some of his guns when Morelli pulled me into the hall.

He reached out and caressed my face, looking at me like it might be for the last time. "I don't suppose you're going to change your mind and come back home with me now that this mess is all over?"

"No," I said. "It's best that it's over, for both of us."

He exhaled loudly, hooked his thumbs in his jeans pockets and looked down at his shoes. "About the ring," he started to say.

"Oh, Joe! The ring! I forgot. Oh, I'm sorry!" How could I have forgotten about the ring?

"I know about the ring," he told me. "CSI found it wrapped around a battery terminal."

"It saved my life," I told him.

Joe smiled. "I've never been more glad about anything, Cupcake. It was worth every penny, and a lot more."

"Did you get it back?" I asked.

Joe just shook his head like I was unbelievable. "I don't want it back." He paused, his eyes suddenly glassy. "It was for you. And I admit it was probably a mistake."

"A mistake?" I asked. "Why? Because you were really in love with Terry?" I couldn't help asking. I might not get another chance, and I wanted to know.

He shook his head "no". "You know I didn't want to be thought of as one of the notorious Morelli men." I knew what he meant. Morelli men were known for being philandering husbands, absentee fathers, and generally jobless, good-for-nothing drunks.

"The truth is I always liked you. You know that. Even when we were little kids I couldn't keep my hands off you." This was true. "I do love you, Steph. But I never wanted to marry you. I thought if we married, it would make our families happy and it would make me more respectable. It might even have helped my career advancement if I appeared to be settled down."

I must have looked like he'd just hit me, because he softened his voice and tried to point out the flaws in the plan. "Morelli women aren't glad to see anyone in love and happy when they aren't. I know my mother and Grandma Bella have said harsh things to you, but they like you as well as they'll ever like any woman I would choose to marry. I thought that, unlike most, you could actually handle them. I thought that, if you agreed to marry me, it would all work out somehow. But, when you tried to squirm out of it, I let you. It was easier for us to maintain the status quo if it was your decision not to marry because you always took it hard when I said I didn't want to. So, I started letting you be the bad guy. I didn't realize at the time that I was using you or misleading you. It wasn't intentional and I'm sorry."

"I don't understand," I squeaked. "Why?" I hadn't really been able to take in half of what he'd just said.

"I thought being with you made me appear to be a better man," he said, his voice breaking and trailing away. "But I'm not."

I reached out and hugged him close. My eyes were burning. I tried hard not to cry, but a tear leaked out anyway. "You don't need to marry me, or anyone, to be a good man, Joe. You're a good cop. You're loved and respected by everyone I know. Don't you know that?"

He squeezed me tight. "I guess that's one of the things I felt when we were together and I didn't want to let that go."

"You don't have to let that feeling, that knowledge, go." As I said it, it was me who was doing the clinging. So much of my life had been wrapped up in Joseph Morelli that separating myself from him was like a snake trying to shed an old skin. He made me feel constricted, sometimes he made me itch till I had to get free of him, but at the same time, being without him was going to be new and different, and there was no going back. "You just have to let me go," I croaked.

"Hey, now. It's not goodbye, Cupcake," Joe said, rubbing my back. "I'll always love you. And I agree it's time for us to move on." I nodded, unable to speak. "Come on. I'll still be seeing you around." Morelli said softly as he let me pull away. "Especially if you insist on running around with this psycho," he said, jerking his thumb at Ranger who was suddenly beside me, placing his hand possessively on my lower back.

Ranger was smiling rather smugly at Morelli, as if to say he'd finally won.

"Oh yeah, Manoso?" Morelli tipped his chin forward and looked down his nose at Ranger. "You think you can trust me with your woman next time she calls me for help?"

"Yes," Ranger said, still grinning.

Morelli raised his eyebrows. "Why's that? You planning to kill a cop?" Joe was just kidding about the killing part, but he was definitely baiting Ranger.

"Despite what you may think, Stephanie never cheated on you with me, even though I tried." Morelli wasn't convinced. "Okay, maybe I came close to persuading her a few times."

I whipped my head around and glared at him. "You did not!" I was totally lying. Ranger had me darn close to forgetting Joe even existed a couple of times. We all knew it, but they both let it slide, then and now. I elbowed Ranger in the gut, but he was all muscle and it was more likely I would hurt my elbow than knock a bit of wind out of Ranger. He was unfazed.

"She never cheated on you, Morelli," Ranger said, smoothing my ruffled feathers by running a couple fingers through my hair. "And she won't cheat on me."

"Well, I guess I'll still be able to kiss you in the alley at the bond's office, since that's not considered cheating," Morelli said to me, laughing.

"No," Ranger said, and he wasn't kidding.

"Well, what you don't know…" Morelli started saying. Ranger cut him off.

"I'll know, and when I find you, it won't be good," Ranger warned him.

Morelli smiled and nodded. "Good," he said, and he touched his finger to my nose and walked away.

"Stop playing around," I told Ranger. When I turned around, I saw that he wasn't looking amused.

"This isn't play," he said, pushing me up against the wall and leaned into me.

_Oh boy!_ I was waiting with breathless anticipation for him to kiss me hot enough to curl my fingers _and_ my toes.

He grinned. "I wasn't going there either," he said, not moving.

"What are you doing then?" I asked breathlessly. His lips were close for only a second before they slipped away.

"I need you to go somewhere with me," he whispered into my ear.

"Where?" I whispered back.

"Miami."

* * *

Ranger took me to a little yellow house in a semi-scary section of Miami. There were bars on all the windows. I thought it was one of his safe-houses until he brought me inside and started telling me about growing up in this house as a teenager. 

He pulled out a large, worn Bible, and pulled a photograph out of the middle pages. It was Ranger as a boy of about 15. I would never have recognized him. The face I knew was muscular and the skin taught with eyes that were sharp and black, and his luxuriously thick black hair, which he used to wear tied back in a ponytail, was medium length and always neatly trimmed. The boy in the picture was lying on the same couch I was sitting on. He had a beautiful smile, but it was a much easier smile than any I had ever seen on Ranger.

"Carlos the Kid," I teased. Ranger nodded. I looked back at the photograph. His cheeks were round and soft and his skin was silky smooth. He still had his peach fuzz. His hair was straight and long, down past his ears and some of the hair in back looked to be brushing the top of his shoulders. He didn't have even a hint of the wide chest and shoulders or thick neck he would later acquire. This Carlos was small, thin, and very dark from spending a lot of time in the sun. The smile was so deep, so genuine, and so carefree, even though I knew his life had not been easy. He had street smarts, even then, I could sense it, but there was something else. He was secure knowing he was loved. For the first time, I noticed the difference between emotional security, which Ranger lacked and the kid had in spades, and being self assured, which Ranger definitely was and the kid in the picture wasn't. All in all, even though I thought I knew Ranger pretty well, I felt I didn't know this boy, Carlos, at all.

I looked back and forth between Ranger and the picture several times. He didn't laugh. He knew what I was seeing, what I was thinking. I touched his face, and he smiled into my palm. For a split second, I thought I did see that little boy's smile on Ranger's face. Maybe it was because he knew I loved him.

He told me how Elena had helped him return to the house after all this time, how it felt like he was finally coming home after all these years, and that he hadn't been ready to share who he was with me at the time. I was a little jealous, but it didn't last long. I knew Elena wasn't a threat. She'd been a true friend to both of us. He also assured me he hadn't told Elena all of his secrets. I doubted anyone alive knew them all, or ever would.

Ranger pulled me into his lap and we sat on the couch under the floor lamp. We opened the Bible with Anna Maria Manoso printed on the front cover. Ranger read and translated the notes his Grandmother Manoso had written. He stopped to tell me stories about her many times. He wanted me to be able to meet her in a way, to feel her presence through the warm décor of the home she had created out of almost nothing, and to know who she was through her words and actions. I soon understood that Ranger's grandmother had played a vital role in laying the groundwork that made him into the man he had become. I started feeling like I already knew Anna Maria Manoso, because so much of what he wanted me to know about her was reflected in the very things I had always valued in Ranger. He was honest, courageous, hard working, loyal, and generous, not to mention that he didn't stray from his infamous moral code.

He also talked about his family in Newark, his friends, and starting Rangeman in Trenton with Tank, Lester, and Bobby. He had never talked about himself much before, and to listen to him going on and on was so unexpected I didn't know what to make of it. But I was enjoying it, and I soaked it all up. I had the feeling I might never get another chance to hear him open up like this.

When we got hungry, he called Rangeman and had one of his guys bring us beer and pizza. He didn't want a pizza delivery man coming to the house for some reason. Ranger was always careful, but particularly when we were alone like this I noticed he was always on heightened alert. And I always felt safe.

We talked late into the night. When I started nodding off, he slipped me under the covers in _Abuela_ Manoso's room, kissed me goodnight, and then went to sleep alone in his old room. It was strange for Ranger to sleep apart from me. But, in many ways, he felt like a stranger to me that night. And I also suspected that, at the heart of it, he knew his _Abuela_ wouldn't have allowed it.

In the morning, Ranger drove us to a large cemetery where Anna Maria and her husband, Ranger's grandfather Carlos, were buried. We walked respectfully to her grave site. There were dried red and white roses sticking up out of the vases attached to the grave stones. Ranger replaced them with fresh flowers and tossed the old ones in a trash can nearby.

He told me about Alejandro. He showed me the spot where he'd lay dying, and he had to pause several times trying to tell it, but he didn't break down. I did, which seemed to make it easier and not harder for Ranger. I guess he was letting me do the crying for him, and he was touched, not amused this time.

Finally, he took my hand and led me back to Anna Maria's grave.

"After Alejandro, I tried to keep myself away from women, at least emotionally." He looked lovingly at the gold lettering. Kneeling down, he traced the letters M-A-N-O-S-O. "It was this woman who taught me love. It's her name I hear when I use my own. I knew what it meant to be loved and to really love someone back, no matter what," he said, laying his palm flat against the stone. "I just forgot. Losing her hurt. But living without that kind of love has hurt even more."

Ranger stood up slowly and backed up a few steps, still looking down, half addressing me and half addressing his Grandmother Manoso. "When I stood here at her grave the day Alejandro died, I knew she would have been disappointed I the plans I was making. She tried to teach me kindness, forgiveness, the Golden Rule, but I saw it all as weakness." He smiled sadly, remembering. "She was never weak. I was wrong to think that way. But I was young. Everything seemed so simple. I still thought things were black and white, or at least, that they should have been. She'd tried to warn me, but I wouldn't listen.

"I had been accepted for training as a sharp shooter. I was training to be an assassin when she died. So had Alejandro, probably because of me. When we buried him, I thought about my life and what it would mean when I died. I didn't like the answers I was coming up with. All I saw stretching out in front of me was a trail of blood. I wasn't really going to help people. Not the way she'd wanted me to. I could hear my _Abuela_ telling me she believed in me, that I was smart and could do anything, and that I had a responsibility to use my gifts to help other people. I wanted her to be proud of me, probably more than I wanted anything else. So, I changed my mind about being an assassin and turned down the assignment. I just wish she'd lived long enough for me to tell her."

"She knows," I said, rubbing his arm, trying to comfort him.

"Stephanie, if you want to know who I am, I'll tell you. But only if you really want to know. Because once you know, you might not see me as Batman anymore, and I can't take it back. Once I tell you, it's forever. That's why I told you, 'Once you go into the Batcave, it's forever.' It's not the location of the house that's a secret. It's the man who lives there that I've kept secret."

I looked into his liquid brown eyes and saw mental pictures of Ranger that had been burned into my brain over the years. I saw him slipping in and out of my apartment like smoke, throwing men across a crowded, smoky bar, kicking down doors and storming in first ahead of his men, standing with his empty hands raised as he faced Scrog, rushing into a pitch black building with night goggles and searching for a bomb that had been planted to kill me, and dozens of other moments when he'd seemed larger than life, charging to my rescue. But most of all, I thought of Ranger standing in Vito's doorway. There was nothing he could say that would make me believe he was anything other than a superhero.

"Okay," I said, taking a deep breath. "I want to know."

The corners of his mouth tipped up slightly. "I knew you would." Then the smile faded, and he became quite serious again. "Remember when I told you I could make you forget Morelli? I meant it." He looked me squarely in the eye. "That's what I do. I make people forget who they are, along with all they know and love, so they can start a new life. Too bad I learned it so well I managed to erase my own life in the process."

I looked at him confused. "I think I need more. I mean, what kind of people are we talking about, here?"

"All different kinds. The ones that should be the easiest – the volunteers – are actually the hardest for me. They're usually doing it to protect those they love. Mostly government and military agents who have had their cover blown and have had their true identity exposed. Some agents actually choose to be 'erased' before going into the field. Some are compromised scientists or people who have been privy to sensitive material that can no longer be trusted for one reason or another. And some are foreign dictators or agents - players on the world stage - that we need to remove for security reasons."

"You mean, sort of like in the movies? Like _Total Recall_, or something?"

"Well, it's not easy to do. We don't have machines that scramble the brain like that. We use a combination that may include brain surgery to remove some memories or to change personality traits and mannerisms, facial and physical reconstructive surgery, including changing height and weight. I don't do any of that. I mostly use chemically enhanced hypnosis along with various other forms of persuasion you don't want to know about."

"And this is better than killing them?" I asked.

"I suppose it's debatable, but I believe in what we're doing or I wouldn't do it. I've seen some of these people go on to lead happy, productive lives. And that makes it worth it to me. It may not be the life they thought they were going to have. In many cases, it's better."

"And if it's not?"

"I work hard to make it better."

"You track these people?"

"Yes. I always know what's happened to them."

"Do you use Rangeman to do this?" I asked.

The corners of his mouth curled in amusement. "What do you think?"

"Yes, I think you do. And you probably bill the government for it too, don't you?"

"Guilty."

"So, are you part of the witness protection program?" I asked.

"No. The system I work for is much higher up the food chain. Witness protection gives people new identities and cleans up ties to their past. They are still the same person. They just use assumed names and ID cards, but they could go back to being their old selves again if they wanted to. They could contact relatives if they chose to. It wouldn't be smart, but it remains a possibility.

"I actually make the person they once were disappear. I've been told my opportunistic nature is beneficial to this type of work."

"I can see that," I agreed.

Ranger got serious again suddenly. "I want you to know who I am, Stephanie. I will tell you all I can, but you _may not _ask who I am hiding. I can never tell you. You must not try to find out. Ever."

"If I did find out, would you have to kill me?" I asked, trying to joke, but not making it.

"I wouldn't. But someone else might make you disappear. And if they did that, they'd have to make me disappear too, because I wouldn't be able take losing you."

I gave an involuntary shiver, and Ranger pulled me to him and held me close.

"Does anyone else know?" I asked. "Tank?"

"Just you and Tank and Miguel. No one else that you will come in contact with."

"What else?" I asked, sensing this was just the tip of the iceberg.

"You know how you've always wanted to know where the Batcave is?" he asked, meaning the one place he considered to be his true home.

"Yeah," I said, my mind reeling with all he was telling me.

"The Batcave is in Arlington, Virginia. I own a large, two story colonial on ten acres outside of town. It's as classically American as you can get. When I live there, I go by a name you've heard before. I was so close to telling you when we were on the train, going to look for Scrog's apartment." He looked deeply into my eyes again. "Stephanie, my real name is Ricardo Carlos Manoso. My true history and only recorded history is that Carlos became Ranger. And I like being Ranger. I don't want to give up this life I've been sharing with you. But I also live another life. The life I chose was to work for the government as an independent contractor, and the name I chose is Marc Pardo."

I gasped. "Marc Pardo?"

He nodded. "You asked me if I stole that identity, and I told you it was all mine, didn't I." I nodded, dumbfounded. He'd told me all that time ago and I hadn't even understood what he was saying. "I didn't lie, Babe. When I let people think I killed people because I said I made them disappear, I didn't lie. I just let them be misled."

"So, the guy you removed to make peace with De Luca isn't dead?" I asked.

"Tank found a guy who was dirty enough that I didn't mind relocating him, but not in a Third World country. I hardly ever drop anyone off there."

"You killed Abruzzi," I said. "You've killed bad men, right?"

"I'm not a murderer, Babe. I trained to be an assassin. I never took the job, but I can do the job. I don't enjoy killing anyone, ever, but sometimes I've had to. Abruzzi was one of those times. He had to be stopped, and the courts weren't going to do it. I don't act as a vigilante, as in going around playing judge, jury, and executioner, with the idea that it will clean up the streets. There will always be crime. I could work forever and never make a dent in it. But I will kill to defend my life and the lives of those I love and those I'm responsible for when they are directly threatened, and Abruzzi had continued to directly threaten you after I had warned him to stop. The man I removed for De Luca was of the same ilk. He had been warned repeatedly. But I didn't kill him. He's learning to live again in a very nice bedroom community in the Midwest."

"Why didn't you relocate Abruzzi?" I asked.

"I was looking for the opportunity, but it didn't present itself. I have ways, but circumstances didn't play out in my favor, or his for that matter. I had to end it. And it was just as well. This way you could rest knowing you were no longer in danger. If he'd simply disappeared, you'd have been looking over your shoulder forever."

"Just tell me one more thing, Ranger," I said, curling my fingers into his shirt. "Would _Abuela_ Manoso be proud of you now?"

He squeezed me a little tighter. "I believe she would. I hope she would."

He pulled back and took my face in both hands, letting his thumbs brush my temples as he looked deep into my eyes. "Babe, I want us to be together forever. No guilt, no insecurity, and no fear you'll leave me the way you kept running out on Morelli. I promise I won't run out on you. And I'll never send you away.

"I asked you to come here with me because I want to do this right. I know a cemetery isn't romantic. I always wanted _Abuela_ to be here when I finally did this with all my heart, so, please forgive me, but this will have to do."

Ranger took both of my hands in his and sank down on one knee in front of me. "Marry me, Stephanie. Live with me at Rangeman where you're safe. Then, marry me again as Stephanie Pardo and come with me when I go to Arlington. It seems like one man has never been enough for you. So what I'm asking is that, if you have to have two men in your life, you'll let me be both of them."

I could feel that my jaw was dropped open again. I tore one hand away from Ranger and put it to my mouth to keep the happy little scream from slipping out and startling him.

"We would have a nice house with the white picket fence and kids, if you want them, in Arlington."

"Would be the sitter be licensed-to-kill?" I asked, laughing nervously.

"Of course," he said, as if that was a silly question. Ranger wasn't kidding.

Ranger was still waiting for an answer. But I had one more question I was dying to know the answer to, so I decided to find out the truth now rather than later.

"One more question before I decide," I said. "The cars. Where do you get all the cars?"

Ranger laughed. "After everything I just told you, you're still hung up on the cars?" I nodded and looked expectantly down at him. "I have a very satisfied customer in Arlington who is served by the Boston Rangeman office," he said. "Rangeman provides 24-hour security for his home and provides whatever additional services are required, no questions asked."

"What kind of services?"

"Whatever is required," he repeated.

"What if he asks for something you can't provide?"

"He won't."

"How can you be sure? You're into this guy for big money, right? Why is it you're never even worried about what to tell this guy when I blow up a car," I thought out loud. "And how does this guy have money for all those cars? What does he do?" I asked.

"Government work," he said, grinning.

"Can I ask his name?"

"You'd know the name if I told you," he said.

"Could it be Marc Pardo?" I asked, eyebrows raised.

All I got was the enigmatic smile. He wasn't going to tell me. Not that he didn't trust me. He just liked playing with me.

"Bastard." He smiled wider. "Still the man of mystery, eh?"

"Always, if that's the way you like it, Babe."

"So, if Ranger is Batman, Marc Pardo is Bruce Wayne?"

"Something like that. Yes."

Ranger was still on one knee, waiting for his answer. But, if he wanted to play games, I could play too. I gave him an enigmatic smile of my own.

"Why do you want to marry me?" I asked. "And don't tell me it's because I'm entertaining."

To my surprise, he rattled off a well-rehearsed list. "You're beautiful to me not just physically, but because you're independent, you're soft hearted, you're funny when you're angry, you need _and_ want me, your crazy family is kind of fun and they are certainly entertaining, you put me at ease, you're not threateningly competitive when we're working together, you let me take the lead." He stopped for a breath. "Steph, I know you're not perfect. But you're perfect for me." He looked up at me so sincerely, I almost gave in right there, but I wanted to make him sweat just a little more. After all, he'd been playing with me for years.

"What about a wedding?" I asked. "Can we have a big fancy wedding?"

"I will marry you anywhere, in front of any witnesses you want. I don't even care if Sally plans the wedding or if Lula wears neon spandex or if Tank passes out next to your mother. Marry me in Trenton, and then marry me again in Arlington. We can have both the circus and the serious versions and you can choose to remember it however you want."

"If I marry you twice, wouldn't that be bigamy?" I asked.

Ranger laughed. "Tell you what. If we're ever brought up on charges, the prosecution will be hard pressed to get all four of us into the same courtroom to make his case." I grinned.

"I still don't know," I said, stalling. "How could I marry a man named Marc Pardo?"

"You married a guy named Dickie," he said in a dead-pan. I grimaced. Good point.

Ranger pulled me down and sat me on his knee, wrapping his arms around my waist and whispering in my ear, "Please, Stephanie. Marry me." I felt my bones go all mushy.

I leaned back slowly into his arms and whispered, "Yes," against his lips as he kissed me. When he released me, there was a plain platinum band on my left ring finger.

"I'm sorry it's plain, Babe, but we need for it to be forgettable, at least while you're making your rounds in Trenton. I will buy you anything you like to wear in Arlington."

"It's not the ring that's important," I told him, gripping his shirt front. "I love you. And this moment will never be forgettable to me."

_To be continued..._


	40. Chapter 40 Steph's POV Epilogue

_All characters named in this chapter were created by Janet Evanovich, Except Helen a.k.a. Elena created by AutumnDreaming and Charlie created by Charles Martin in the novel "When Crickets Cry"._

_Steph's POV_

One year later. 

I was wandering around at The Fashion Center at Pentagon City, a stunningly beautiful shopping mall near Arlington. I was looking for an anniversary present for Ranger. I was quickly discovering that he isn't the easiest man in the world to buy for.

The mall décor reminded me of those ornate, Southern plantations because it's all white with soaring colonnades, intricate white ironwork with golden and brass accents, and pristine tiled floors. As I was walking through the food court, palm trees were towering overhead and the bluest sky was visible through the ceiling, which was one enormous, geometrically designed skylight. The palms made me think of Miami. Had it only been a year ago? It seemed like two lifetimes had passed since then. Probably that was because I had been living two lives since then. We spent most of our time in Trenton, and about a quarter of our time in Arlington. We had also made several trips back to Miami where we stayed at _Abuela's_ house.

I wasn't the only one living a new life. The evening after Ranger proposed, we had picked up Elena at Rangeman and driven her out to meet Charlie at a house on the outskirts of Orlando. Even Ranger didn't know exactly what we were doing there, but Charlie had asked him to bring Elena, so we did. When we got there, Charlie was dressed in head to toe in tan khakis, high top boots with his socks sticking out over the tops, and he was sporting a dark tan safari hat. Elena couldn't help laughing and informed him that he looked just like The Crocodile Hunter, God rest his soul. We'd all loved Steve Irwin. I wondered if Charlie wasn't pushing the whole animal thing, but what do I know?

Charlie had a black silk scarf in his hand, and insisted on blindfolding Elena with it. He tied it himself, and took her by the hand, and lead her through a side gate and down a long concrete sidewalk, his cane tapping ahead of him. Ranger and I turned to each other. We were both thinking this really was a case of the blind leading the blind, but we didn't say a word. We just followed, curious.

When we walked through the gate behind Charlie and Elena, we realized the creeping vines had been camouflaging a 20' chain link fence with razor wire around the top. It appeared that it could be electrified, although it hadn't been in some time for the plants would be fried. Now I was getting nervous. Charlie was a nut, and this didn't bode well.

Then I heard it a sound that turned my blood cold. At first I thought a lady had screamed. I turned to leave, but Ranger grabbed my jacket collar and turned me around. "It's fine," he said. "I think I know what this is about."

"Want to fill me in?" I asked.

"No." He pushed me forward, ahead of him. I wasn't happy, but his almost-smile reassured me somewhat.

Just ahead of us was a woman with long gray hair blowing in the breeze stood waiting for us. She was tall, thin, and looked like someone's spinster aunt who believed in very tough-love. She was wearing faded, stained blue jeans and a button-up blue jean shirt with cowboy boots and she carried some kind of riding crop in her hand. I looked again. It was a whip. Yikes!

"Okay, you two," she said to Ranger and me. "You just stay on this side of the fence and don't leave the sidewalk."

"Yes, Ma'am." Ranger said. I was thinking, _no problem_!

"Charlie, it's all yours," she said, taking his cane and planting it in the sand beside the sidewalk. She opened a gate in the fence and took his hand, leading Charlie and Elena inside a large, grassy enclosure. There were two short, wide palms growing in the enclosure, but they had been stripped almost clean of bark from the ground to about six feet up. Suddenly, I saw why.

Charlie was leading Elena slowly, cautiously, towards an enormous male African Lion who was lying on a large flat boulder. I sucked in a breath and grabbed Ranger's arm. I couldn't speak, but pointed, indicating he should do something, but he shooshed me.

"He's old," Ranger whispered. "Probably doesn't even have any teeth left."

I wasn't nearly so sure. I watched with my heart pounding as Charlie knelt down on the sand about 10 feet from the lion and pulled Elena down to her knees in front of him. He held both of her hands in his.

"Ready?" the woman asked.

"Ready," Charlie said.

The woman walked right up to the lion and slipped a chain around his neck. It looked like a choke chain, the kind you would use on a large dog, though surely this chain was stronger. She gave a gentle tug, and the lazy old lion slipped down from the large rock where he had been sunning himself and followed her towards Elena and Charlie.

The lion put his muzzle right up near Elena's face, as if sniffing her breath, just like Thomas A. Cat did. She was surprised and backed up into Charlie, but he had her hands in his and pushed both their hands forward until they were touching the fur. I heard Elena suck in her breath sharply as she realized what she was touching.

The lion stood still on command and they both petted him, touching his thick mane, long back, and soft belly. His tufted tail was flicking them every once in a while. The flies were bothering him. He turned and let them pet the other side as he walked slowly past them. Then he continued pacing back and forth.

After getting accustomed to touching the lion, and getting braver, Elena touched his muzzle and teeth. The teeth were enormous, and he didn't look that old just then. Even Ranger tensed a little. The lion didn't like this inspection too much, but he put up with it. She touched his claws too. This cat was still fully loaded.

After about half an hour, he seemed tired and laid down, almost in Elena's lap, leaning heavily against her. Charlie backed up, keeping his hands on Elena's back and upper arm so he knew where she was and what she was doing. Slowly, she bent down, pressing her ear against the lion's massive chest and listened to his breathing and his heart beat. The lion didn't care. He lay quietly, flicking his tail and giving a little shiver of his skin when a fly would bite. Charlie stroked Elena's hair and bent down to listen to her heart beat as she listened to the lions. Soon after, Elena moved back and let Charlie have a listen. They were face to face, each with an ear pressed to the belly of a lion.

"Well, there's something you don't see every day," I said to Ranger.

"Yeah, what a shame," he said, bringing my hand up to his mouth and placing a kiss on my palm.

Charlie had leaned slightly over the big cat and was feeling along the lion's mane when he suddenly sat up. "There's something on his neck," he said. "Feel."

Elena moved back over the lion and leaned up far enough to feel around the chain on his neck. She seemed to find something, paused, and then pulled back with something small in her hand. Charlie was staying in physical contact with her, and reached out to feel what she had in her hands. He felt her touching it, exploring it. She made a move to remove the blindfold, but he stopped her. She put her hands back on the little object. Charlie helped her open the little box. He placed the bottom of the box on one of her hands, holding that hand, while he guided her other over the engagement ring the box contained.

"Charlie, what's this all about?" Elena asked, mostly indicating the presence of the lion at the scene of his proposal.

"Before I could ask you to marry me, I had to be sure that I had shared a more memorable heart-beat-of-the-lion moment with you than you had ever shared with anyone else." He tipped his head a little as if she knew what he meant.

"Well," Elena said, a little exasperated that something she may have said offhandedly, Charlie had taken so literally. "I have to hand it to you. You've given me an experience that I've never had before."

"I'd like to give you a lot more. That's why I want you to marry me." he said, pulling the ring slowly from the box and reaching with both hands for her left ring finger.

"Charlie," Elena said, her hands and voice shaking, "I would be honored to marry you."

Charlie slipped the ring onto her finger, and pulled her into their first real kiss. Suddenly, the lion jumped up and roared like a true king of the jungle, and Elena nearly jumped into Charlie's arms. He was laughing, but it was a few seconds before Elena decided it was funny. Out the corner of my eye, I caught Ranger slowly pulling his hand away from his back. One more roar like that, and I think he'd actually have shot that mangy old lion.

After that, Elena and Ranger had some kind of heart to heart the afternoon we returned to Trenton. I didn't intrude, but Ranger seemed to be encouraging Elena in something. She seemed reluctant, but after a lot of talking, which I admit made me a little jealous, Elena gave Ranger a brother-sister quality hug and went back to her desk. That night, she drove Charlie out to a grain elevator outside of town where they watched a storm roll in. She was surprised to find out that Charlie could see the lightning. The flashes of light registered in his eyes despite the damaged retinas. Storms were one of his favorite things in the world, and she later found out that back home he would stand out on the dock over the water and dance, sing, and shout at the storm in delirious happiness. She would go out with him and he would twirl her around in the sheets of rain, with his guide dog, Georgia, running circles around them. She couldn't help relaxing when she was with Charlie. He was disarming, and she was finally happy and at peace.

She later told me some of what Ranger had said to her that afternoon. He told her she was a lot like him, and Charlie was a lot like me. "You know what? We need those clowns in our lives, you and I, so we don't take ourselves too seriously" he'd said to her. "And maybe, just maybe, they need us too." I think this was Ranger's way of telling her Charlie wasn't perfect, but maybe he was perfect for her.

She must have agreed, because after that, Elena had packed up and moved to Georgia with Charlie. She lived close by with Charlie's brother and his wife and little girl until they completed six months of pre-marital counseling with Charlie's pastor. The wedding service was held on the dock of the lake because that was where Charlie did most of his talking to God.

For a wedding feast, a whole pig had been slow roasted in a barbeque pit. It was the best meat I had ever tasted in my life. I recognized that hint of Elena's scent in the meat, and finally asked her what in the world that spice was. It turned out to be nothing more than a very high-dollar dash of cardamom. One thing was for sure, it was mouthwatering. I guess Charlie's nose still appreciated it, because she wore it every day of our visit. Charlie's nose was useful for other things as well. He not only knew exactly what to put in a marinade, he also knew when the meat was done to perfection. Even Ranger ate too much. Everyone was happy that day, including Percy Johnson, who was not officiating, but was telling entertaining stories for hours at a time down by the water. He was sitting on the dock in a wooden deck chair with a cane pole in one hand and a big plate of roasted pig in the other. I almost wished Ranger and I had waited to marry so we could have doubled with them.

But, then again, I wouldn't have missed Grandma Mazur getting sloshed and trying to get it on with old Mr. Spiga out on the dance floor. Mr. Spiga was a recently widowed, 70-some-year-old former neighbor of mine who Grandma had, in her drunken state, apparently mistaken for her boyfriend, Crazy Carl Coglin. I expected that sometime soon, Mrs. Bestler would have a permanent passenger to talk to when she got bored, because Carl might just stuff Mr. Spiga and leave him standing upright in the elevator.

Our wedding in Arlington was private with just Tank and Miguel as witnesses. The four of us were a team. The elite inner circle. Ranger had four stunning white wedding programs with pearlescent bead work printed that listed those attending as "Henry Higgins and Eliza Doolittle and their two esteemed colleagues". He thinks he's so funny sometimes. But I treasure it ten times more than if it said "Marc and Stephanie Pardo".

Now, here we were, celebrating our first anniversary. What in the world could I get him?

I did what I always do when I'm confronted with a shopping dilemma. I wandered over to Macy's. I took the escalator down to sniff the perfume. I was missing Elena suddenly, and thought I might even pick up a bottle of _Philosophy_ in addition to some more Bulgari for Marc, I mean, Ranger. Wherever we went, and whoever we were, he always smelled like Ranger.

I was looking down into the glass display case containing the Bulgari when I caught a reflection in the glass. Red hair. It couldn't be. No one had seen or even heard from Joyce Barnhardt since the day she'd stun gunned me under that bridge and turned Elena and me over to Terry Gilman.

I looked up and saw a large woman in a pink makeover smock standing behind the cosmetics counter. It was Joyce. Actually, it was a whole lot more than Joyce. She must have gained fifty pounds. I watched her for a while. Every now and then she bent down behind the counter like one of those cheap plastic birds that appears to be drinking and then bobs back up. She was sneaking bites of a candy bar. I could hear the paper crinkling, and I knew the sound from personal experience.

I walked up to the counter slowly. "Joyce?" I said. She looked at me, but didn't seem to recognize me.

"May I help you?" she said in her usual snotty tone. Yep, it was Joyce Barnhardt alright.

Before I could answer, an alarm on her wrist watch went off, startling me. She shut it off. When she did, I saw that the watch band was digging into her wrist. "Time for my pills," she said, digging her bag out from behind the counter and counting out two pills. She downed them without water and chased them with another bite from the candy bar.

"What are those for?" I asked, genuinely interested to know.

She looked at me sort of funny for a second before answering. She acted like no one had ever asked about her health before. "My doctor says I have OCD. These are supposed to help."

"Obsessive Compulsive Disorder?" She nodded. "What sort of compulsion are you working on?"

"I have an eating problem. I can't stop. I have to eat all the time." She bent over and took another bite.

"Can I see the pills?" I asked, suspicion growing.

She handed me the bottle of pills from her purse. "These were prescribed for you my M. Pardo M.D.?" I asked. Is that your regular doctor?" I asked.

"No, he's the doctor I see for my OCD," she snapped. It was a programmed response if I'd ever heard one.

"Joyce, I really think you need to get a second opinion," I said, trying as hard as I could to put our past behind us and be a friend. As much as I wanted to get even with Joyce, I hadn't wanted her to end up like this.

I had no sooner finished my thought when Joyce ripped the pill bottle out of my hand and started screeching at me, "Get your grubby hands off my pills." She was totally flipping out. "He's MY doctor. I saw him first. You can't have him. Get your own hottie M.D." She stuffed the pill bottle back into her purse, now muttering to herself under her breath like a crazy person. "This one's all mine. He may not know it yet, but I'm going to have him, one way or another!" She was spitting little bits of chocolate and caramel as she spoke. When she popped back up she was giving me to old Joyce Barhardt look of hatred that was usually followed by something I was going to find very unpleasant. I backed up. "And stop calling me Joyce you man-stealing little tramp! Can't you read?" She threw her chest out, showing me her name tag. _Eugenia_.

"Eugenia?"

"What, you think my name is funny do you?" I shook my head no, but I couldn't stop staring at her excessive mass. Other than the red hair and the familiar scowl, she didn't look anything like Joyce Barnhardt. "Well, let me come around this counter, we'll see how funny you think I am then," she said, trying desperately to get both arms behind her to untie her smock.

Sheesh! And to think I was feeling sorry for her and had half a mind to try to help her.

I turned and walked away as quickly as I could. I was almost to the exit into the mall when my cell phone rang. It was Ranger.

"Happy Anniversary, Babe," he said, still laughing.

"You did that to Joyce?" I asked, still hardly able to believe what I had just seen. I couldn't decide if I was happy or angry with Ranger.

"I had to do something with her," he said simply.

"You'd better watch your back, Doc," I told him. "She's out to get you."

"I know it. I have to sedate her every time she comes through the door of my office."

"Are you really a doctor?" I asked. When had he ever had time to go to medical school?

"No, Babe, but I play one on TV," he said. I could hear the 200-watt smile that was surely lighting up his face.

"Have you ever used these powers of persuasion on anyone else I know?" I asked, suddenly curious about what other mischief he'd been up to that I had missed.

"Oh, lots of people, I suppose. Let's see." He thought for a second. "Remember that time you were after Simon Diggery, and you thought I was going to feed his uncle to that big snake of his?"

"You said you were only going to feed _part_ of him to the snake," I reminded him. "But afterwards you said the snake wasn't hungry. Hey, how did you get him to talk anyway?"

"Well, I didn't try to feed him to the snake. That thing gave me the creeps."

I had to laugh. I was always surprised by the thinks Ranger told me these days. And he'd been treating me to quite a sense of humor, too.

"So, how'd you make the old man talk?" I wondered.

"Oh, I persuaded him with a mild truth serum that I carry. It's labeled 'defense spray', and it is a defense, in a way."

"You'd have to go a long way to sell me on that one," I told him.

"I'd go to the ends of the Earth for you, Babe," he said, still smiling over the phone.

"I was trying to find something to give you for our anniversary," I told him.

"Find anything?" he asked.

"Does it look like I found anything?" I was empty handed, and I expected he was close enough to know it.

"Not from here," he said, confirming my suspicion.

"Want to give me a hint as to what you might like?" I asked.

"Look in your bag," he said.

I opened my bag and found an ivory and gold gift wrapped package with a shiny gold bow on it. I pulled it out. It looked like it might be a pen or a tennis bracelet. It was long, thin, and rectangular. I pulled on the bow and started pulling the paper off. I walked over to a trash container nearby that tossed away the wrapping and sat down on a bench to open it. It was a good thing I did. What I saw took my breath away.

It wasn't jewelry. It wasn't a weapon. It wasn't a pen with a GPS tracker in it. And it wasn't a car key.

It looked like a cheap plastic digital thermometer. But it wasn't a thermometer. I could tell from the plus sign.

"Ranger!" I nearly dropped the box. It was too wonderful to be true. I had to be dreaming. Joyce, and now this? Yep. I was dreaming. I blinked twice, but I didn't wake up. I looked back at the plus sign. I didn't even want to know how he'd gotten the sample from me. All I knew was that, once again, Ranger had proven he knew me better than I knew myself.

"Is this really what you want?" I asked, breathlessly.

"I already have everything I want, Babe." I heard him in stereo because he had come up behind me and was leaning over me, pulling me into a caress and nuzzling my neck. "And I've never been happier."

"Happy Anniversary, Ranger," I whispered.

"Happy Anniversary, Babe."

_THE END_


End file.
